


yours is the earth

by Temeritous



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent Issues, M/M, Magister!Hawke, Other tags to be added, Period Typical Attitudes, Slavery, Some Political Intrigue, Tevinter Imperium, slave!Fenris
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-11-01 02:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 113,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10912380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Temeritous/pseuds/Temeritous
Summary: Tevinter AU with a spin - Hawke and Fenris come to Kirkwall avoiding some unnamed scandal in Tevinter, to the estate Hawke's mother grew up on, and make new friends and enemies in a city on the brink of war with itself.





	1. keep your head

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my trashcan! This story is by no means complete and god knows I have trouble finishing anything, but I figure someone else will want to wallow in this filth with me while it lasts. Something that does encourage me to keep writing is reviews, so if you like it and want to see more, drop a comment. If you're _really_ good at it I sometimes even take scene requests.
> 
> We'll start off with a few chapters of set-up and exposition in Tevinter and then move on down into Kirkwall once that's done. This is just a little teaser prologue.

 

One of his earliest memories was of Malcolm Hawke holding both his hands and saying, "The only way to control your magic is to control yourself, Garrett. You have to step back from anger and passion, or you'll hurt someone you don't mean to, like your mother or your little brother and sister."

It stuck with him.

* * *

Hawke found his next teacher to the south, in Tevinter proper, a year after Malcolm's death and a year into Hawke's decision to see more of the country his mother and father fled to.

He bowed to his last opponent, who was leaning heavily on her staff and panting blindly open-mouthed; a notable difference from the fancy, put-together version of the same woman who began the fight with six fireballs aimed at Hawke's squishiest parts. The crowd clapped politely with a few appreciative whistles thrown in. They were mostly Soporati, free non-mage men and women, with the other Laetan mages who had already been knocked out of the tournament sprinkled among them. Hawke knew these were his people, or were supposed to be his people, but he felt little in common with them.

After he'd made his bows and showing to the audience, he went to collect his winnings from the tournament host, an Altus by the name of Horus Aureus.

"That was an excellent show, Serah Hawke. Where did you study?" Horus asked, jangling the cloth bag of coins. It was enough to fund another three months of easy travels, longer if Hawke wanted to rough it more often than not.

"The Seheron Circle and with my father. He was from Ferelden originally; taught me some southern tricks I don't think we see often up here."

Horus' smile turned mocking and he raked a sharp gaze up Hawke's body, broader and thicker than a native 'Vint's. "Ah, yes, I thought I saw some of the southern barbarian in you. But, you won fair and square within the rules, and so I present you with your prize."

Hawke's smile didn't waver in its pleasantness. He refused to let the words penetrate, like he was still wearing his stone armor. "Your apprentice fought well, Messere Aureus. She could have taken anyone else in this tournament."

Horus' eyes narrowed viciously and he thrust the coins at Hawke, taking his leave abruptly without another word. His departure revealed a sleepy old man in a plush chair behind him in the three-sided tent, blinking lazily.

Hawke eyed the old man a moment and then turned to leave as well.

"Hawke, was it?"

He stopped, drew his foot back, turned again. "Yes, Messere...." The glint of gold on the man's left index finger, around his neck; finally the colors and make of the robe. "Ah, Magister. Aureus?"

"Yes, yes," the old man rasped, levering himself up. Hawke stepped forward on instinct to help him, but just wound up hovering. Magister Aureus must have been a Force mage because once he was on his feet it looked like a three-day gale couldn't move him. "Where did you really learn that magic?"

Hawke hesitated and then answered a little more honestly, "Less the Circle, more my father."

"And his name was?" the Magister demanded, leaning forward to peer at Hawke's face like he could read the answer off him.

"Malcolm Hawke. He really was an apostate mage from the south."

"And who taught him?"

Growing frustrated with the questions but unable to leave before the Magister dismissed him, Hawke said shortly, "The Circles of Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall, as far as I know. I never interrogated him."

"Hm!" Aureus grunted, not pleased. "You have more promise than most your age, boy," Hawke was eighteen and didn't feel much like a boy, but the Magister was to be going on eighty so probably called most grown men boys. "You hold your temper and your magic both close. No wasted effort with you, hm?"

"Uh," Hawke said, "No?"

"I wasn't looking for another apprentice this late in life, but the Maker likes to surprise us. Surprises and tests, that's what you can expect from the Maker and from me, boy."

"I'm - not looking for an apprenticeship." Hawke said the first thing that came to mind.

Aureus fixed him with a dry stare. "You think you are done learning? No, or you wouldn't be running all over the country gawking at things like some southern savage, making a spectacle of yourself at my insolent son's tournament. You weren't looking for a teacher and I wasn't looking for a student, but here we are."

"I don't use blood magic," Hawke protested, which was the last thing he should say and could have well been the last thing he said in his life.

Aureus sighed. "Southerners."

* * *

Hawke sipped the wine and watched the other mages over the rim of the finely-made glass. He hadn't thought he'd like these parties, but Magister Aureus had taught him to see them for what they were: a chance to exchange and measure power and influence.

"Hawke," Horus said. Hawke pretended to be surprised, as though he hadn't clocked Horus kiting around the edge of the party to come up behind him. "You must have nerves of steel and _several_ good antidotes to show up at one of my events."

Hawke lowered his glass to hang loosely by his side, giving himself a clearly unconcerned look. "I finished a full apprenticeship with your father and these parties are open invitation, are they not? Why wouldn't I be in attendance?"

"I did hear that thieves like to return to the scene of the crime," Horus hissed, dropping the pretense of politesse. "Thieves and murderers both to see their handiwork."

Hawke stared Horus right in the eye, giving nothing away. "If you wanted to get me convicted for murdering your father, you should have done it yourself and framed me. I can't be blamed for your lack of foresight." He looked away, past the walls of the ballroom to old Aureus' favorite gardens. Horus got the estate and the lands and the title, but Aureus had bestowed his knowledge and studies on Hawke alone. "But Magister Aureus went peacefully in his sleep at the end of a long and productive life."

"I'll give you one last chance to return what you stole, Hawke." Horus snarled. The man was in his forties and still acted with so much posturing; Hawke knew exactly why Aureus had never tried to teach him.

Hawke took his time answering, raising his glass for another mouthful of the expensive wine, humming his approval at the taste. Finally, "Your father left me his books and his amulet, as described in the will read before the Magisterium by yourself. Your appeal was broken. What you want is mine."

For some reason, Horus began to smile meanly. "Fine, then. You've clearly made your choice; may it bring you only what you deserve."

Hawke frowned slightly as he watched Horus walk away. Horus had had only two avenues open to him to regain what Aureus left Hawke: an appeal in the Magisterium - shot down by Horus' own enemies and Hawke's few allies - and a Magister's duel, which he would never call for. Horus knew very well that Hawke would defeat him.

He looked down into his glass, but if it was poisoned, he'd have been feeling it by now. Hawke sighed and internally lamented that the next one probably would be. At least the Magisterium was only in session for another week before the four-month break for the harvest and quiet assassinations season.

* * *

Hawke met Horus' triumphant gaze over Magister Danarius' shoulder, and knew why Horus hadn't seemed angered at the end of their last meeting. He'd been planning this, planning to hand off the responsibility of actual dueling to someone more capable.

"Full property," Hawke heard himself saying in a kind of fugue state. His property of course included the small land holdings in Seheron, the few slaves who worked their fields, and, if he lost, his mother and brother. "A full property duel, Magister Danarius."

Hawke still wasn't looking at Danarius, too busy watching Horus go pale and narrow-eyed. Horus had to be wondering why Hawke would up the stakes from a few books and an amulet to so much more.

"You risk much," Danarius said from a great distance.

The courtyard began to clear, the mages and slaves well used to dueling procedure. Hawke finally focused on his true opponent, on Danarius' clear gaze and sure hands. That bodyguard slave was still hovering behind the magister, but he wouldn't be allowed to interfere in the duel.

Hawke centered himself, regaining his lost calm. Yes, he'd demanded a lot, but - "I risk nothing. I will win."

The crowd chattered, aghast, and then fell into an unnatural silence. Playing mediator, Horus raised his staff high, paused, and brought it down hard in a shower of sparks on the flagstones.

The duel began.


	2. risk it on one turn

Hawke waited, poised like the predator waiting for its prey to make just one sound, but there was no more movement. The courtyard was a still-life painting; the spectators might not even be breathing. He circled warily, drawing closer to the stone spike that had impaled Danarius through the gut and lifted him in the air, closer to see the man's face, if he was still alive - 

The older man was reaching out over his head, gasping in a horrible rattling breath, "Fenris, my wolf, come, Fenris," and Hawke looked and saw the bodyguard slave caught midstep on the edge of the crowd. Another slave's hand was on his shoulder, and the elf's expression was a torn, conflicted thing, unsure as he looked at his master.

Hawke turned his staff and brought the sharp bladed end down through Danarius' neck, severing it neatly. The ashen-gray head rolled open-eyed onto its side. Hawke spat blood on it and looked up to meet Horus Aureus' fearful gaze.

He sneered, "You were warned."

* * *

Hawke looked down at the list of things that belonged to him now, and back up at the Minrathous estate in front of him. He sighed.

Gallo, an Altus and one of the few people Hawke would call 'friend', hooked an arm around his shoulders and leaned forward. "Bit big, isn't it? Ostentatious. Danarius wasn't known for his good taste, though."

The front door was deep red, freshly painted at the beginning of the Magisterium's session, with ornate gold leafing on the old Elvhen-styled design carved into it. The door was set into an even more opulent arch flanked by classic Tevinter dragon idols.

"Think of it this way: tomorrow the session's over and you can retreat to his other holdings in Qarinus, Seheron, oh, some in the Free Marches and that little hidey-hole in the Anderfels we pretend not to know about...."

Hawke groaned. He'd be sorting out Danarius' affairs for half the next century, it seemed. But there was that statement from the bank of Minrathous and the many little numbers on it; thinking about that made him happy. And in four months' time, at the beginning of the next session, he'd be confirmed as a Magister and gain access to all of the things that title could provide.

He led Gallo into the mansion, listening with one ear as his friend listed off, "Tacky, tacky, get rid of that, oh that's a nice piece..." The place was bigger than it seemed from the outside; being a city house, having any real amount of square footage was already expensive, but it went farther back and deeper than Hawke expected. There was a basement, a massive wine cellar below the basement, and three floors above the ground one. And it was filled with furniture, books, and the household slaves.

"The slaves' quarters are downstairs, Messere Hawke," his new steward Sovitus told him, eyes flicking all over. "And the kitchens are back here behind the formal dining room, the drawing room just here next door - unless it was a formal affair the former master preferred eating in here, by the window. Is there anything you would like to see first?"

"A bed. Not Danarius' old one." Like the Void he'd be sleeping in the same room that detestable old man had.

Sovitus bowed and led him up two flights of stairs to a room with a huge double bed and attached full bath. If this wasn't the master bedroom, Hawke shuddered to think what Danarius had done to it. It was probably covered in dragons and tacky decor.

"I'm having my things sent over from my previous lodgings," Hawke said, reaching out to the curtains around the four-poster bed to feel the gauzy linens. "When they arrive, have them left up here. Do not unpack them."

"Yes, Messere." Sovitus assured him. "What else can I do for you?"

"How many slaves in this house?"

Sovitus hesitated and then said, "Five, Messere Hawke."

Hawke raised an eyebrow and glanced over to Gallo, who nodded at him. He looked back at Sovitus. "You don't sound sure of that."

"There are five slaves assigned to the house, Messere, but six in residence. Messere Danarius' personal slave was returned to the house after he had been restrained at the Magisterium."

Hawke remembered the white-haired elf now, though he'd barely glanced at the bodyguard slave at the time. He'd never wondered what had happened to the elf.

"I'll see them now, then take dinner in that drawing room."

"And... about Fenris, Messere?"

"Fenris?"

"Ah, the personal slave. His name is Fenris. He accompanied Messere Danarius wherever he went; if he is left with this household there will be no work for him. And he... makes the other slaves nervous, Messere. He can be - quite savage."

"Danarius dragged a misbehaving slave around with him?" Hawke asked, disbelief coloring his tone.

"Not like that, Messere, he is just... not all there, we think. Like an animal." Sovitus nodded decisively.

"Then I'll see to the household slaves _and_ this Fenris." Hawke said, rolling his eyes.

Sovitus nodded again, a little more dubiously, and led Hawke back out of the bedroom, back down two flights of stairs, and to the formal dining room. He knocked on the door to the kitchens imperiously and stepped back, allowing it to swing open and emit a string of five elves and a human woman.

Two of the elven men came first, the first one clearly the house's runner given his build and the other more made for heavy tasks. After them it was the elven women, thin and pale things whose eyes never left the ground, with longer hair than the usual slave-crop close to the head. Kitchen and drudge work, if Hawke had to guess. After, the human woman with thick arms and legs and flour still spattered on one elbow; the cook. And she was shying uneasily away from the elven man behind her.

Who had pale white hair cut close to his head, a strong, fine nose, and very green eyes. Hawke saw these because the slave stared unabashed at him, though without a sense of challenge. More like, as the elf looked him up and down, he was examining the man who'd killed his former master. Was he one of those madly loyal slaves who would try to avenge a dead master?

Hawke remembered a single, thin hand restraining the elf from reaching is his master's dying gasps and decided probably not.

They all looked healthy enough, and from what he'd seen of the house they were keeping it in good repair. "Names?" he asked, looking at the elven man on the left end of their line.

The elf startled into looking up at him and then ducked right back down. "Lewan, master," he nearly whispered.

Hawke looked expectantly at the man next to him and got, "Septimus," And farther down the line "Luxia," "Mecia," and "Portia," from the three women.

"And Fenris." Hawke murmured, not giving the white-haired elf a chance to speak. Fenris flicked his gaze up from a submissive level at Hawke's chest to his eyes and then back down, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Hawke reached out to him and tilted his head back up with one hand under his chin, lifting the elf's head back until he had an unobstructed view of the blue-white lines tattooed from his lower lip down his throat and disappearing into the spiky armor he wore.

"Lyrium," Gallo marveled from behind Hawke, nearly startling him. "Danarius' pet project. There's more worth in the lyrium in that slave's skin than in this whole house. I saw him have it take out an assassin's heart by reaching through her chest."

Hawke remembered now that Danarius was the Magister who traveled with a slave embedded with lyrium who could phase through people and, it was said, walls. A perfect bodyguard or assassin.

"Thank you for your help today, Gallo," Hawke said, taking his hand away from the elf's skin. The lyrium tingled; he wanted to try pulling power from it, but there was no reason to. "Will you be staying for dinner with me?"

Hawke's tone made it obvious what the correct answer was. "Ah, kind of you to ask, Hawke, but my lady awaits me for a silent meal over our large dining table. I had it extended so that she could no longer pretend to accidentally kick me, so thanks for that suggestion."

"See him out, Sovitus," Hawke nodded to the steward, who glanced nervously between Hawke and the slaves. When the two had left, Hawke turned to Portia and said, "Something light for dinner tonight. I prefer sweet fruits and meats, and I'll be very happy if there's a fresh bread, but don't bother if it isn't already made. As soon as possible, in the drawing room. Fenris, follow me."

Hawke watched the elf's expression clear out even more, into complete relaxed passivity. All light left his eyes, which were only half-open as he looked steadily at Hawke's feet, now. "Yes, master," Fenris said in a shockingly deep voice, and followed obediently into the drawing room.

Hawke settled himself into the armchair by the unlit standing lamp, looking around the room. It was likely where Danarius had entertained after serving his guests dinner, judging by the arrangement of the comfortable chairs and low, flat couches. There was more wealth displayed in here - gold leaf accenting the legs of the furniture, the wall sconces, and the mantle of the unlit fireplace. Hawke realized that Fenris was hovering uncertainly beside his chair.

He gestured to the seat across from his, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Fenris looked wide-eyed from the chair to Hawke, and finally seemed to realize that he was perfectly serious. The elf sat down slowly, poised on the edge of the seat. Hawke could probably knock him off it with a stiff breeze.

"What was your purpose for Danarius?" Hawke asked, leaning forward.

"I was a bodyguard." Fenris said immediately, leaning back just a little.

"And?"

"...I did as he bid me?" Fenris tried.

Hawke waved a hand. "I'm not trying to trick you, Fenris. Danarius might have been paranoid, but not even he would have a lyrium slave for nothing more than his own protection."

Fenris seemed to relax a little, realizing what Hawke wanted to hear. Hawke wanted to know what _use_ was he. "He used my lyrium to power some rituals, my blood for others. I tasted his food to make sure it wasn't poisoned, when he was suspicious his enemies had gotten to it."

Hawke nodded along as Fenris listed his duties under Danarius, realizing that Sovitus' fear that the slave was some kind of mindless beast was unfounded. Perhaps something Danarius had even encouraged to separate his lyrium slave from the others.

"Are you going to sell me, master?" Fenris asked.

Hawke brought his full attention back to the conversation. He pretended to consider, although he already knew the answer. "Probably not. Did you want to be sold? I can understand not wanting to belong to the man who killed your former master."

Fenris looked down and away, muttering, "I do not have a preference."

Eyes narrowing, Hawke asked, "Did you have another master before Danarius? Were you born or sold to him?"

"I might have had another master before him," Fenris admitted, "But I cannot remember anything from before Danarius gifted me with the lyrium. The pain of the procedure wiped away everything that had happened before it."

"Are you glad he's dead?"

Fenris still hadn't looked up, but he flinched further and was curling in on himself. "Does it matter?"

"Answer me."

"No."

"Why not? I've seen how he keeps his house, and Gallo told me how he treats his slaves."

"You might be worse, master. I do not know. I knew Danarius, I _only_ knew Danarius."

Hawke sat back and sighed in satisfaction. "Better the demon you know how to handle, right?"

Fenris stayed hunched miserably in his seat, silent.

The door to the kitchens opened on oiled hinges, revealing Luxia with a serving tray of an unopened bottle of wine and a pitcher, and Mecia with another tray of varied sandwiches.

"Portia hopes that these are to Master Hawke's liking," Mecia murmured as she set the tray on a folding table and offered the cloth napkin on her arm, very obviously not staring at Fenris sitting in one of the chairs. Luxia waited patiently until she was done and then went to one knee to offer the water and wine.

"If Master Hawke would like a different wine, I know the name of every label in residence," she offered, also not staring, keeping her eyes fixed on the single goblet on the tray.

It was encrusted with sapphires around the middle - of course it was, Hawke thought exasperatedly. He looked at the label; drier than he usually liked, but still acceptable. "The wine is alright, although for future reference I prefer sweeter. Pour it and you both can leave."

A flurry of smooth, practiced motion, and Hawke was left with a serving table of sandwiches, a goblet and bottle of wine, and a nearly-mute slave.

"I'll be leaving for my lands in Seheron tomorrow morning," Hawke said between bites of a sandwich. "And to assess Danarius' holdings there as well, I suppose. You've been before?"

"Danarius implied I was from there, once," Fenris muttered, coming to life a little. He stared hungrily at the platter, then caught himself and looked away.

Hawke waited until he was in the middle of taking a sip of the wine to push the platter toward Fenris invitingly, so that the slave wouldn't feel like he was being watched. Fenris didn't move.

"Eat." Hawke ordered, rolling his eyes. "I'll tell you this one more time, Fenris, but I don't like repeating myself - I am not trying to trick you. If I tell you to do something, it means I want you to do it. What kind of blighted mind games did Danarius play with you?"

Fenris reached out and pulled a sandwich off the edge of the pile, taking a large bite from it and swallowing almost without chewing first. He seemed to think the question was rhetoric.

"I want you to answer that when you're done with that sandwich." Hawke told him. Fenris' eyes widened and he looked like he was considering slowing down, but was perhaps too hungry. Or realized that it wouldn't save him.

Fenris swallowed heavily and said, "Sometimes I mistook Danarius' actions for an implied order. He was merciful in correcting me."

"I'll bet," Hawke muttered. Louder, "It's a weak man who has to trick and beat his slaves to feel above them."

Fenris watched him with wide eyes. Hawke sighed and pushed another sandwich at him.

* * *

Traveling with Danarius was slow, required days of advanced planning to make sure the master was never inconvenienced or left in discomfort, and still usually wound up with someone getting punished.

Traveling with Hawke was much different.

"I can have a private ship ready for you in only a few hours - " Sovitus tried, desperately.

"Just book a passage, Sovitus." Hawke insisted, pressing the man to the side and out of his way. He caught sight of Fenris, standing silently in the corner of his sitting room after having ghosted in after Sovitus. "For two people."

Apprehension and relief both hit Fenris, churning his stomach. He didn't know this magister, or what he would be like, or what he did with his slaves, but Fenris had also never been anything other than his master's pet wolf. He had no other purpose, no other use, and no idea what he'd do with himself if his master just left him in this house. The cook was equally at a loss of what to do with him; she wasn't even sure he should be fed.

Sovitus left for the docks to arrange passage on a ship, his lips pressed together in a tight line. Fenris watched him go and then turned back to Hawke.

"We'll leave as soon as he's back with the name of a ship," Hawke told him, shuffling through the pieces of mail that had been delivered last night. "Ah, this needs answering...." He sat at the writing desk and pulled out Danarius' favorite fountain pen, grimacing at the gold cap on it. "Did that man not own anything worth less than ten sovereigns?"

_Some slaves_ , Fenris thought grimly, remembering the old and infirm who were sold cheaply with the expectation they'd be used for blood magic. Not that you could put that on a purchase form.

"Go get us some breakfast, Fenris," Hawke said without looking up from the letter he was penning. "Hm. Some fruit, if there's any fresh."

Fenris left, grateful to finally be given a normal task; not something like 'sit in this cushioned chair' and 'answer questions about yourself'. Danarius had done many things to him, but that had been a strange kind of torture.

The cook was already at work, taking a loaf of fresh bread out of the oven as Fenris let himself through the door. Her chatter to the two female elven slaves stopped immediately.

"Yes?" she demanded as she set the bread to cool on a table.

"Master wants breakfast. Fresh fruit." Fenris told her.

Her nose wrinkled. "Well, that's not nearly enough to be going on. Perhaps he'll like the bread and - Mecia! - a squeezed juice? We'll try it. Is it true he's leaving today?"

Fenris nodded and watched the elves dart around the kitchen, pulling fruit out of the enchanted cold box and a contraption from below one of the counters. Mecia started putting oranges and pomegranates through the machine, squeezing large amounts of juice out of the fruits and into a pitcher at the other end.

Portia's voice pitched lower and her eyes darted away from his. "Is he going to take one of my girls with him?"

"He has not expressed an interest." Fenris said evenly. It was all the assurance he could give.

Fenris took the breakfast tray back upstairs, laden with fruit, fresh toasted bread, and the full pitcher of some juice and water mix. He stopped for a moment outside the door to swallow the saliva that he'd been unable to stop and pushed it open.

"Mm, that looks great," Hawke said, looking up from his letter. "Go give this to Septimus, it needs to get to Gallo at the Stratus estate as soon as possible."

Fenris set the tray down on a side table for serving, poured the juice into another sapphire-encrusted goblet, and retrieved the letter from Hawke's hand. Hawke didn't let go right away.

"Come right back up here after." Hawke said, looking intently at Fenris' face.

"Yes, master," Fenris murmured, looking just about anywhere other than Hawke's eyes.

He released the letter, and Fenris fled to find Septimus in his usual post, exercising in a corner of the slaves' room in the basement. He hopped up from a squat when he saw Fenris holding paper.

"Where to?" he asked, eager. He probably hadn't left the house to run in days; at least since Danarius last had him deliver something.

Fenris started, "Gallo - "

"Gallo Stratus at the Stratus estate." Septimus finished quickly. "If he isn't there do I track him down?"

Frowning, "Master Hawke did not say."

Septimus grimaced and swore very softly. "Does he have more messages to go out after?"

Fenris shrugged helplessly and glared when at Septimus when he opened his mouth to speak again. "Just go," he snapped.

Septimus sneered, "Relax, little wolf, I think you're already his favorite," and took off up the stairs before Fenris could grab him.

Fenris growled at the empty room and kicked Septimus' bedding into disarray. He took a moment to compose himself, to find calm again, and went back up to his new master.

Hawke looked up from reading another letter, leaning comfortably in his chair with the paper in one hand and an apple in the other. "That took longer than expected."

Fenris froze in the doorway. Was this where the punishment started? He'd heard the other slaves last night, talking about how new masters always wanted to assert themselves and set the rules down early.

"Did something go wrong?"

"No, master. Septimus questioned whether you wanted him to track Magister Stratus down if he was not at his estate."

Hawke shrugged. "He'll be there, or I would have said." He turned his attention back to the letter, tilting his head to take an absent bite of the apple. He grimaced as he chewed, and looked over to Fenris again.

Fenris was just getting himself comfortable, standing quietly in Hawke's eye-line against the wall with his hands behind his back.

"First of all, get over here and sit down," Hawke said, motioning with one hand to the other armchair right next to his. Fenris started moving reluctantly. "Second, eat this. I don't like mushy apples or wasting food."

The apple fell into Fenris' hands, one large bite taken out of it. It was soon joined by another, as Hawke picked it off the tray and tested the skin for 'mush'. Fenris found nothing wrong with the taste or the texture, but magisters could afford to be a lot pickier about their food, he supposed.

Fenris ate both the apples, watched his new master, and tried hard not to think about anything.

* * *

"My family has lived in Alam since I was a kid," Hawke told Fenris in a friendly tone, as Fenris stared miserably at the meal put in front of him. "What, do you have a problem with fish?"

Fenris' head jerked up. "No, master." He steeled himself for the near-overwhelming salt taste, like eating semi-solid seawater, and lifted the fillet to his mouth.

Hawke watched, amused. "You're a bad liar, Fenris. We'll be off the boat in another two days, and then you won't have to eat another fish, but I didn't bring any food with us."

Fenris barely chewed, swallowing as quickly as he could to get it over with. He considered Hawke out of the corner of his eye. In Minrathous, a port city, fish was often one of the cheapest kinds of meat available. Some slaves ate nothing but. Danarius had never let Fenris forget that he was spoiled with more expensive foods, with being allowed to poison-test Danarius' food and eat whatever scraps the man didn't finish. For punishment Danarius had him put on fish rations instead of the usual bread and water, knowing that Fenris hated it so much worse.

Hawke was discovering his weaknesses far too quickly; Fenris tried harder to be worried about it.

"After we land in Alam I'll want to see that house in the city, but my mother and my sister are in the farm house. Bethy is going to rip me a new one for risking a Magister's duel. Mother.... well, she might speak to me sometime later this year, if I'm lucky. My brother, Carver, is stationed with the army in Qarinus; I don't know if word's even reached him yet."

Hawke's gaze was distant, and he seemed to be talking mostly to himself. Fenris listened closely, parsing the words for information about his new master. A sister and mother, and a brother in the army - the brother couldn't be a mage, given that status, but either of the women could be. Would they be like Hadriana?

"Do you know the way to the house in Alam? I've got an address but I do hate asking for directions."

Fenris realized he'd been asked a question and nearly choked on his last bite of fish. "Ah - yes, master, I know the way."

"Good, good, that shouldn't take more than a few hours to check in. Then I'll get to introduce my new bodyguard slave to my sister; that'll be fun." He muttered this last comment.

Fenris' heart sank. This 'Bethy' did not sound kind, nor like she was fond of slaves. He'd have to be careful to stay close to Hawke, who seemed more than reasonable so far.

He'd given Fenris apples.

Hawke stood, stooping so the low ceiling didn't hit him, and said, "I'm going to walk on the deck a bit. You're welcome to join me, or stay in here."

Fenris looked around. Their room aboard the ship was small and nearly barren, with a table and chairs, a hanging lantern with magelight in it, and two hammocks. He would be safe to stay in here, out of sight and out of mind.

He stood and followed Hawke up onto the deck.


	3. allowance for their doubting

 

Alam hadn't changed since the last time he'd been here, but Hawke had. He'd been away for the entire session of the Imperial Senate, eight months of fancy parties, meeting Magisters and Alti, backstabbing and backroom dealing. He felt much darker than the young man who'd kissed his mother and sister goodbye to go change the course of the Imperium.

The farm house he'd 'inherited' from Danarius was large but only had two floors and a basement; it sprawled more than it climbed, unlike the city houses. It was locked in place by a thick wall around the edge of the property, a massive snaking thing that surrounded all of the fields associated with the house, curving over the horizon and out of sight over the hills.

The guardsmen at the gate snapped to attention when Hawke and Fenris approached. Hawke recognized Lira from his own family's guards, although the elven man must be a new acquisition for the bigger area.

"Mas - Magister Hawke!" Lira greeted with a smile, "We have been awaiting your return! I was so happy to hear the news. Congratulations on your new position."

Hawke bowed grandly, grinning back. "It was nothing, my dear. The man was old, nothing to a spry young thing like me. Where is my mother, and who is your friend on guard here?"

Lira's voice lowered. "Not speaking to you, in the flower garden in the middle of the house. This new place you got for them is very nice, master, but I think she misses the house your father lived in. Oh, and this is Ashanen, he's in new from the south."

Hawke's mouth twisted. "It's being put to good use; she should know. Thank you, Lira."

They finally passed through the gate, Fenris aware that both Lira and the other guard were staring at him as they went. He was staring too, at the simple, light chain collars both Lira and Ashanen wore, iron painted white holding a pendant engraved on both sides with a hawk caught mid-hunting dive.

She was a slave?

Hawke led them up the path to the house, peering between the tall hedges that lined it so he could get a view of the fields to their left and right. To the left, the coastal side, the only thing growing was the massive rows of sugar cane, broken only by the irrigation system. To the right, the orchards of fruit-bearing trees; bananas, mangoes, avocados, and pineapples. Farther out toward the coast, unseen beyond the cane, there would be the cultivated coconut trees and the mangroves that helped the enchanted runes to filter out the salt from the seawater in the irrigation system.

Hawke let them in through the front door, which was thankfully much plainer than the door in Minrathous with only a few dragon decorations and no gold leaf. He stepped into the welcoming foyer, cool and dry after the tropical Seheron heat, and shouted, "Where's my little sister?"

There was a loud thud from what Fenris knew to be the house's small library, and the door to it banged open. "Garrett!" the girl exclaimed, running headlong into Hawke's open arms.

"Bethy." Hawke said into her mass of black hair, squeezing her tightly. Fenris looked away uncomfortably. She did not look cruel, but Hadriana hadn't at first either.

"Garrett!" Bethany said again, pulling back to cup his face in both hands. Then she pulled on his ear. "You fucking idiot!"

"Ow, Bethy," Hawke complained, leaning into the pull. "Come on, it was fine."

"You risked mother, and Carver, and if you'd... if you'd died it would have killed us, Gary. Dad never wanted you to do anything like this."

"Dad was a good man, Bethy, but he didn't know everything. This is good for us, and it wasn't really a risk. You know I wouldn't. It was that fucking Horus Aureus who set it up, but he won't be a problem anymore. Everyone knows he pulled his last card, and I beat him. He's the laughing stock of the Magisterium right now."

"You're still an idiot," Bethany insisted. Then, looking behind her brother, she noticed Fenris for the first time. "Oh, who's the elf? Dalish?"

"Danarius' old bodyguard slave. Bethany, this is my new bodyguard Fenris. Say hello, Fenris."

"Hello, mistress Hawke." Fenris said, sketching a deep bow and keeping his head lowered. Perhaps he could avoid her ire, or drawing any more attention.

"Oh, please, everyone calls me Bethany here because my mother goes by mistress Hawke. She's in the flower garden - it's in the middle of the house, Hawke, it's so nice, like being outside without the wind all the time from the sea. I think I'm going to like reading there. Do you really need a bodyguard now, Garrett? I thought you said you were safe enough."

Hawke shrugged and shot Fenris a look that could be described as playful, by someone who was not a slave and had the luxury of assuming such things. "Well, the poor guy looked pretty lost before I said I'd keep him on, so it's more for him than me at this point. But, you know me, Bethy, it won't take me long to make the kind of enemies a bodyguard would be good for."

Fenris stiffened, horror washing over him. He'd been so obvious, hadn't he? He'd hoped, after Danarius was dead, that he could keep hidden all those little weaknesses his master had liked to exploit, keep some things for himself again. But Hawke knew anyway.

"Oh, Garrett, you've offended him," Bethany said to her brother. "Go see mother, and I'll show him where to put your things."

Hawke left them easily, bending down to kiss Bethany's cheek quickly and leaving Fenris with a quick smile. Fenris watched him go with apprehension gnawing at his stomach, then looked over at Bethany's feet. They were pointed toward him.

"I'm up here," she offered, waving a hand to draw his gaze up. "You're a quiet one, aren't you?"

"Yes, mistress," Fenris replied, because Hadriana had always liked to slap him for not answering even a rhetorical question.

"Well, the room we left for Garrett is down this way. Mother took the master bedroom, but this one is very nice - I almost wanted it for the bath attached to it, but there's one on the second floor right above the library, with a great view of the orchards, I just couldn't pass it up."

As Bethany chattered, they went through the wide, airy halls and arrived before what Fenris knew was the best guest-bedroom. The room she was describing as her own was the one Danarius had kept for younger or less-favored apprentices, farther from the center of the house and the center of power.

"Just put his things on the dresser, he'll want to unpack himself later. Did you bring anything?"

Fenris forgot himself for a moment and stared at her. He was wearing his armor and his sword, and he owned nothing else. Technically, he couldn't even claim to 'own' the armor and sword.

She shook her head. "Sometimes I forget that the rest of the Imperium is weird about their slaves having possessions. Come on, let's go rescue my brother from mother. If she hasn't been ignoring him the whole time, she'll have been shouting."

"I'm fine, thanks for your concern," Hawke said, coming around the corner. "She's not speaking to me, but what else is new? The woman wouldn't know good communication if it bit her."

"Garrett," Bethany chided, rolling her eyes.

Fenris was hardly listening. There was a painted white chain clasped in Hawke's right hand, and there was a heavy feeling pressing on his chest. He should have known - he did know, he'd seen it on Lira and the elf at the gates - that there would be a collar. Danarius liked to leave it off, liked to have an unobstructed view of his work on Fenris' skin, but even he had used them. And with the collar there was always a leash later.

"Turn around, Fenris," he heard Hawke order from a great distance. He turned.

The pendant came down in front of his eyes, flashing the symbol of that hawk again, and dropped to rest in the hollow of his throat. There was a spark of magic at the back of his neck, and the chain was sealed. Hawke was his master.

There was a warm hand on the back of his neck, and Hawke turned his head to look him in the eye. "Not too tight, is it?"

Fenris felt like he landed back on his feet after a long fall, jolting back into his body. "No, master," he murmured, staring at those gold-yellow eyes.

Hawke hummed thoughtfully, his gaze wandering all over Fenris' face. His hand on Fenris' neck moved, tracing the muscle at the back up and down, petting through his hair. And, staring into Hawke's eyes, Fenris realized he could stop waiting for the whip to drop. Hawke was as good as he seemed.

The exhausting weight of that fear finally lifted, leaving Fenris light-headed and a little breathless; he swayed on his feet for a moment, held upright by the hand on his neck.

"All right, there?" Hawke asked, still searching his face for the answer to some unasked question.

Fenris smiled a little. "Yes, master Hawke. I am well."

* * *

Fenris met the Lady Leandra Hawke at the evening meal, as he poured the wine around the table. She was an older woman with steel-gray hair and steely eyes, her skin wrinkled by time and tanned by the sun. She spoke easily enough to her daughter, but didn't say a word to her son. Hawke didn't try to talk to her.

Bethany visibly grew more and more frustrated as the meal wore on, and Fenris had to fill her glass twice as many times as the others, she was draining it so fast. He stood back and watched Hawke talk around his mother, relating his travels and adventures from before Fenris had met him.

"And then Horus tried to accuse me of stealing the amulet and the books - again! After the Magisterium ruled them mine by will and right! - and I told him to get lost in the fog. Of course, that must have been when he went running under Danarius' robes, promising Maker knows what to get the man to duel me."

Bethany gasped, enraptured. "So it's true that he challenged you? They're telling it differently in Alam."

Hawke shook his head. "They would, it makes a better story the other way around. But no, Danarius would have had no reason to accept a challenge from me, while I couldn't deny one from him. I played it well, I think. There won't be a challenge to me for some time."

Fenris remembered the scream, the body impaled up into the air, his former master's head rolling on the ground, and Hawke's bloody spit dripping into the empty eyes. No, he didn't imagine another Magister wanting to risk an end like that.

"You risked everything your father ever fought to give us for the sake of your damned pride," Leandra snapped, rising from her seat.

Hawke made a clicking sound against his teeth. "You were doing so well, mother, don't give up your righteous silence now."

The woman's face colored, and her hand rose from the table, reared back to strike, and Fenris saw that Hawke was just going to take the blow at the same time as he was moving.

Fenris inserted himself between the two of them, head bowed and turned to the side to avoid meeting the woman's eyes. He didn't know if Hawke wanted him to do this, hadn't even had time to think or consider before his body was already moving. He'd stepped in front of offended slaps for Danarius before, as the magister stepped back and smirked to see his opponents caught by his slave.

Leandra's hand had landed with hardly any force gathered against his shoulder. She shoved at him. "Who is this? Some new slave your foolishness has bought?"

"His name is Fenris. He used to be Danarius' bodyguard; now he's mine. Fenris, you can get back. She won't try to hit me again, will you, mother?"

Leandra went pale and then mottled red. She swept out of the room without another word, dinner half-eaten on the table.

Hawke sighed and made a face at Bethany, who was staring mournfully into the potatoes on her plate. "You knew that had to happen."

Bethany said, "Yeah," and shoved a whole spoonful of the potatoes into her mouth to keep from having to say anything else.

Hawke picked up his mother's plate and held it out to Fenris. "Here. Thanks for trying, but next time just let it happen. She always hits my shields, and then later she feels guilty for even trying."

"Thank you, master," Fenris said softly, taking the plate, his mouth watering. "I am sorry for my actions."

"You're fine, Fenris," Hawke patted him on the shoulder and then sat down to his meal again, tucking into the roast with as much enthusiasm as if there had been no fight.

* * *

After dinner, after Hawke and Bethany had gathered in the library for a few hours to go over Bethany's new research into a branch of spirit-healing magic - she was indeed a mage, Fenris confirmed - after all of that, it was dark outside and time to get ready to sleep.

And Fenris ran face-first into a problem.

He knew the slave quarters were in the basement, and he'd stayed with the other slaves at the house in Minrathous without comment from Hawke, but he had no bedding with the slaves here. The steward hadn't been told to make room for him.

And Fenris was rather accustomed to sleeping in his master's room.

Hawke went to his room, stripping off his robes as he crossed the threshold. He didn't seem to notice his elven shadow still following him into the room, closing the door quietly behind them. In fact he didn't notice or think of Fenris - who was really too quiet at times - until he turned around and saw the elf sitting upright against the inside of the door, his long sword propped against his shoulder. Fenris blinked up at him curiously.

"What _are_ you doing?" Hawke asked, baffled. "Are you... going to sleep like that?"

"Where should I sleep, master?" Fenris asked, half of him braced to hear _In my bed, take that armor off._

"Well, if you're dead-set on sleeping on my floor you should at least take a sheet and a pillow. Hang on..." Hawke started opening doors, finding the linen closet after he'd discovered the bath.

Fenris jumped to his feet, tipping the sword onto the plush carpet. He darted in before Hawke could pull down a folded sheet for him, wildly uncomfortable with the thought of Hawke doing anything more for him.

This put him right in front of Hawke, which was unfortunate when the man chose that moment to set a hand on Fenris' waist and say in a low voice, "Unless you'd rather share mine."

Fenris froze. The slow-moving ice in his veins wasn't as bad as he thought it would have been, had he not seen Hawke interact with his other slaves all day. He thought that Hawke would be, if not gentle, then at least not cruel. He didn't seem to enjoy causing pain for no reason, although Fenris knew that men and women could be very different people in bed than they were in public.

He set the sheets back on the shelf and stepped back into Hawke's body, letting the master's arm wind fully around his waist and pull him tight.

"Not that the armor's not nice, but you've been wearing it for a few days," Hawke murmured into his ear. "And it's starting to smell. Take it off."

He released his grip to let Fenris do as ordered, standing back and watching with a thoughtful look. Fenris knew he had a desirable body type to some, that the lyrium lines accented an already well-formed shape, and he knew how to emphasize it. He stripped slowly, turning as he went, flashing each new inch of skin as it was uncovered, until finally he was in only his smallclothes before Hawke.

Hawke's pupils were blown wide, his breathing uneven. He was pitching a tent in his light under-robe, Fenris saw.

Fenris took a step forward, went gracefully to his knees - but was stopped by Hawke's hand under his chin. He stopped in place, half-crouched, and looked up into his master's dark eyes.

"One more thing for you to learn about me, Fenris," he said softly, drawing the elf back up to his feet. He cupped Fenris' face in his hands. "I don't take unwilling partners to my bed, slaves or not. I like active and enthusiastic participation. If you don't want this, if you don't think you can do that, tell me now and nothing bad will come of it. You will not be hurt or punished. Understand?"

"I understand," Fenris muttered, the concern that had been wrinkling his brow smoothing out. Hawke wanted something like a trained body slave, which Fenris was not, but he hadn't asked for skill; just participation. "I can do that."

Hawke smiled so brightly it seemed like magic that lit up the room. Fenris stared, drinking him in. This would not be a chore, or something to be suffered through the way it sometimes had with Danarius. Fenris thought he would very much enjoy it.

"Good," he purred, and stripped off the under-robe to leave himself naked. He put his hands on Fenris' hips and walked them backward, falling onto the bed and pulling Fenris on top of him. "Oh, I wanted this from the second I saw you, Fenris."

He ran his hands up Fenris' sides, over the lyrium lines and up his neck, pulling him down into a kiss. Pulling away for a second, just barely enough room between their mouths to breathe, "All this beautiful skin, the lyrium, your eyes, and this odd white hair - it looked so soft I wanted to pet you right away." Hawke kissed him again and pulled away chuckling.

Fenris decided that Hawke seemed to want to keep talking - about him, at him; the compliments were making some new feeling squirm inside him - so he ducked below Hawke's jaw and started mouthing at the skin there.

"And that voice of yours," Hawke was still talking as Fenris moved lower, down the middle of his chest, "I'll want to hear you screaming my name tonight, Fenris. The Maker doesn't hand out a voice like that not to be used."

Fenris looked up from Hawke's stomach, where he was trailing his tongue down the line of the man's hip toward his groin. He flicked his tongue up at the end of the line, curling it back into his mouth. "Yes, master," he muttered roughly, and sucked Hawke's cock all the way into his throat.

From this angle he couldn't see Hawke's face anymore, but he heard a gratifyingly loud groan of pleasure, and both of Hawke's hands pushed through his hair, dragging short nails against his scalp. Fenris hummed, trying not to smile and risk adding teeth. This was much more fun already than he'd ever had in Danarius' bed, although not yet his best experience.

He lifted his head and sank back down, suppressing the gag reflex with the ease of long practice. Above his head, Hawke muttered, "Festis bei uno canavarum," _you will be the death of me_ in Tevene. Fenris pushed his tongue against the thick vein on the underside of the cock and kept moving, swallowing around the head when it hit his throat.

"You're not finishing me that fast, you little demon," Hawke growled, drawing Fenris off by his hair. He pulled the elf back up his body and Fenris went, arching his abdomen against Hawke's cock as he was dragged up.

Hawke flipped them, heavy body pinning Fenris to his soft feather-mattress. He grinned down at the elf and leaned onto one elbow, freeing his other hand to trace the lyrium lines on Fenris' neck all the way down to his stomach. "Are these sensitive?" he asked, and didn't wait for an answer before leaning in a licking a broad stripe up the cluster of lines on his throat.

"Nnngh - sometimes." Fenris replied

Hawke reveled in the vibration of Fenris speaking with his mouth against the slave's voice. "Does it hurt, or feel good?"

Fenris shifted, not wanting to answer truthfully but also unwilling to lie. Hawke stopped tracing the lines with the tip of his tongue. "Fenris? Answer me."

"It doesn't hurt usually," Fenris managed. "But the lyrium builds up and... stings."

"Builds up?" Hawke muttered thoughtfully to himself, and then moved up to press his forehead against Fenris'. Fenris had nowhere to look but right into those gold eyes. "Does this help, then?"

Hawke's hand flattened out in the middle of Fenris' chest, and he braced himself for the sharp draw, like raking needles through the lyrium lines from the inside.

Instead, an awareness opened up outside of his body, like discovering a new limb, but it was an ocean of roiling power and Fenris was tipping backwards and forwards into it at the same time, head spinning. The stinging power left him not like water sucked too-fast through a narrow hose but like a stream draining naturally into the greater river, following at its own pace.

Over the rushing of the ocean and the blood in his head, Fenris was only dimly aware that his body was moaning, pressing up and writhing against Hawke's, that Hawke's eyes were rolled back and unfocused as he panted into Fenris' ear.

The draw stopped, and for the first time Fenris missed it. The lines were back to their pleasant equilibrium, neither fully drained nor over-full, but rational thought was slow to return.

"That was... fun." Hawke laughed, still in his ear. Fenris shivered against the feeling and turned his head, offering his neck again. "Feel better?"

"There's an ocean inside of you," Fenris said stupidly. "Uh, yes master."

Hawke paused in nuzzling under Fenris' ear. "You felt that?"

The ocean? "Yes? I am sorry, master, I cannot stop it."

The magister sighed against his skin, chilling it where it was wet from his mouth. "It's fine, I suppose. Only my father knew it was there before, but it's hardly a secret. Just that no one in the Imperium really asks, 'what does your magic feel like?'"

"Danarius was a cold stream melting off the top of a mountain," Fenris babbled, hiding his face against Hawke's dark hair. "You're the Boeric."

Hawke laughed again. "Flattery will get you everywhere, little wolf. Now, where was I?" His hand wandering down encountered the smalls Fenris was still wearing, and straining against. "New rule: no clothes in bed."

Fenris nodded seriously and lifted his hips so that Hawke could slide the smalls off down his thighs, and Fenris kicked them off when they were at his knees. Hawke's hand came sliding up the back of his thigh again, stopping only to grip and knead at one ass-cheek.

Hawke shifted down for a better angle, taking the opportunity to suck one of Fenris' nipples into his mouth and pin it between his tongue and his teeth. Fenris inhaled sharply and arched into that touch at the same time he felt a rush of magic under the hand on his ass, a familiar pattern of energy: the grease spell.

Hawke's wet fingers stroked gently over his hole, and Fenris smiled privately to himself; Hawke was wonderful and kind, the best sort of master a slave could hope to belong to. Grease and - Hawke's finger pressed in, just one at first because - he wanted to stretch Fenris first, prepare him so that there would be less pain.

"Ready?" Hawke asked after the third finger, crooking them inside Fenris to hit that spot that made his vision blacken at the edges and his whole body light up with lyrium.

Fenris nodded breathlessly. He'd have said the same before the first finger, and meant it only slightly less. He was beginning to realize he'd do a lot for a master like Hawke, and enjoy it too.

"Let me hear you say it," Hawke teased, mouthing at Fenris' throat again as he still pressed that spot with his fingers. "I told you I like that voice of yours."

"Yes, master," Fenris gasped out, "Please, I'm ready, please fuck me now." If Hawke wanted more articulate begging, he'd have to _stop doing that_ with his fingers, but Fenris also never wanted him to stop it.

But the fingers were gone then, and Fenris whined - like a dog, pathetic - he pushed that invasive memory away as Hawke shifted to kneeling between Fenris' legs, hitching the elf's knees up high around his hips and holding his cheeks open.

Hawke sank into him so slowly, leaning heavily over Fenris' bent body. Fenris arched off the bed and into the angle, pulling him in with crossed ankles against his lower back, and the hand that Hawke wasn't using to hold Fenris' hip came up to grip with Fenris' hand against the sheets.

It felt like the Dragon Age was surely ending as Hawke was finally all the way in, how long that moment lasted. Hawke sighed contentedly above him and leaned barely forward, kissing Fenris on the mouth for a moment. His hand trailed inward from Fenris' hip and wrapped around Fenris' cock. He looked down.

"Lyrium here too?" Hawke asked dryly, tracing the single line on the top with his thumb. "Was this necessary or was Danarius just an insufferable pervert?"

"Both, I assume," Fenris gasped against the feeling, trying to use his legs and hips to get Hawke to move in him.

"You're much more fun when I'm fucking you," Hawke observed almost casually.

"You're _not_ fucking me yet," Fenris snapped, and then remembered himself and cringed. "I am sorry, master, please forgive my outburst. I - "

He stopped. Hawke was laughing, and it felt amazing in him. " _That's_ what I'm talking about. Some fire in you that old pervert couldn't put out. Delicious. But, I _am_ fucking you."

To demonstrate, Hawke pulled out and thrust back in, so powerfully Fenris felt the air knocked out of his lungs. And he kept going, again and again, as Fenris devolved into nothing but the sparks in his blood and the orgasm he could feel building up from his _toes_ , like it was going to be a wave crashing over his head and drowning him.

Which was what it felt like when it came, drowning him so completely that his mind stopped accepting input from most of his senses; sight and sound didn't matter when there was such intensity coming from the touch of Hawke's hands on his skin, of Hawke's cock inside him, of the smell of Hawke's sweat surrounding him.

He didn't even return to awareness of the world in time to watch Hawke's orgasm; he came back to himself to find Hawke petting his hair again, his body tucked securely to the inside of Hawke's curve.

Hawke kissed the top of his head and asked, "You alright? Checked out on me for a little while there."

"Sorry," Fenris offered hoarsely. He cleared his throat and wondered how loudly he'd shouted. "That was... unusual for me."

"It's okay, I frequently give people such strong pleasure that they black out on me. I've become accustomed to this terrible burden."

Fenris hesitated because he couldn't see Hawke's face, but he thought he recognized the tone; Hawke was making a joke. He remembered Hawke's comments about his 'fire', and tried his luck with, "Some men _are_ more blessed by the Maker than others," as he pressed back into Hawke's groin with his ass.

Hawke's surprised laugh was all the encouragement Fenris needed to know he'd done right. "That's what I'm looking for. No time for round two though, Fenris; lots of work to do in the morning. Sleep now."

"Good night, master," Fenris murmured into the arm Hawke had tossed over his shoulders.

"'Night, Fenris," Hawke replied, nuzzling into his white hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hashtag MyFirstPorn? It's not, but it is the first really explicit porn scene I've posted. Not even a convenient fade-to-black halfway through, which is my usual MO because I don't tend to write for porn (don't get me wrong I totally _read_ for porn, just not write) but for character development, interaction, and storyline. Anyway, tell me what was good/bad about it. Also this covers all of what I had stocked-up writing-wise, updates after this will be much slower.
> 
> Next stop on the trash train is Kirkwall. Seems sudden, I know, given that we'll be doin a five-year timeskip (from 9:26 to 9:31) but those five years are boring guys! So boring! And will have no effect on the rest of this story (I'm lying). But I want to write the Kirkwall crew not about Tevinter intrigues.


	4. start again at your beginnings

 

The ship was pulling into port slowly, the crew rowing them into place with painstaking manual labor. In their cabin belowdecks, Fenris was helping Hawke properly arrange his Tevinter-fashion robes.

"Why this year's fashions include bits that take six hands to put on right, I will never know," Hawke griped, holding the outermost layer away from the inner one with both hands.

"It would only take four if you didn't need that extra layer for warmth in this blighted cold country," Fenris muttered sullenly, around the fold of cloth he had to hold in his teeth while he fixed another one underneath. 

"I'll have to look into Marcher mage fashion," Hawke bemoaned. "Perhaps some of it won't be too terrible. I could bring it back to the Imperium later! The newest fad: southern savage chic."

"I think mages down here are still wearing feathers, master," Fenris told him wryly.

"What - like they did in the tens? I never understood that. Made everyone look like peacocks - more so than usual, I mean."

Fenris smiled and released the robes, waiting with baited breath. But they fell correctly into asymmetric lines and layers, decorative pointed pieces hanging rather feather-like off of the shoulders. "I think it's done."

"Oh thank the Maker," Hawke intoned, leaning back so he could stretch his arms out under the low cabin ceiling. "Now, let's go over it one more time."

Fenris held back a loud groan.

"We are...?"

"Exploring new investment opportunities in Kirkwall." Fenris grunted.

Hawke nodded brightly at him. "And when that cover story falls apart, we're escaping from some scandal in the Imperium."

"We _are_ escaping a scandal in the Imperium," Fenris reminded him. "Because you didn't stop me from killing that magister."

"He was a ponce and in bed with half the illegal slavers in the land," Hawke excused, flapping a hand at him. "Besides, that's what makes it such a great cover: it's true!"

Fenris muttered, "Just not all the truth."

Hawke swept around from his eager pacing, hands coming up to cup Fenris' face. "It'll be fine, my little wolf," he insisted. "Bethy and Varania are studying with the Qarinus Circle, Orana and Quill are safe with them. The people left in Alam are only the ones who wanted to be there, and know the risks."

Fenris stared into Hawke's gold eyes and closed his, breathing out. "I know. It's just the Marches; I already don't like it here. Too cold, and these people don't bathe nearly often enough from what I remember."

There was a knock on their door, and a voice filtered through, "We're docked, Magister Hawke. Captain's having your things brought up first."

Hawke ruffled through Fenris' hair, almost long enough now to get into his eyes. He asked, "Ready?" 

"I'm with you," Fenris promised.

* * *

There was a red-haired man waiting at the end of the ship's plank, scowling at the sailors carting boxes and sacks down around him. He pasted on a smile when he saw Hawke in his distinctive robes appear at the rail.

"Welcome to Kirkwall, Messere Hawke!" He greeted as they got closer, pacing behind two men carrying one of Hawke's bigger chests. "Or do you prefer Magister?"

"I'm not picky," Hawke replied, looking the man up and down. Behind his back, Fenris rolled his eyes hard. The red-haired man's fair skin flushed a little. "You'd be Seneschal Bran Cavin, yes?"

Bran cleared his throat. "Yes, the Viscount sent me to see you settled in properly. As promised, he has sorted things out with Knight-Commander Stannard; you will not be hassled by her Templars in our city."

"Southern Templars are so much more exciting than ours up north," Hawke commented over his shoulder to Fenris, meaning _keep an eye out for them anyway_.

His attention drawn to the elf, Bran shifted uncomfortably, staring at the black chain and hawk pendant around Fenris' neck. Most people stared at the spiky armor or the massive sword on his back, but that was southern priorities for you. "I'm sure that Viscount Dumar already told you there is no legal slavery in the Free Marches, even for our most welcome guests."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Hawke countered blithely, waving a hand at Fenris. "Fenris is a servant, aren't you?"

Dutifully, Fenris spoke in a deadpan monotone, "I am a servant of master Hawke."

Hawke's eye twitched but he smiled brightly. "See? I'm sure I pay him and everything. Now, will you also be guiding myself and these stevedores to my new house, or must I ask for directions."

As Bran began assuring Hawke that he would definitely be showing Hawke the way to his estate - the old Amell house, reclaimed from some pit of ignominy that it had been allowed to fall into - Hawke turned his head aside and hissed to Fenris, "Could you have _been_ any more unconvincing."

"They don't actually care," Fenris muttered back. "They just want someone to pay lip service to soothe their southern sensibilities. And I will not be shamed or guilty for belonging to you."

Hawke's gaze softened and he smiled a little. "Alright, then, but please practice for the next nosy blighter who asks. Someone is bound to try to do something about it. The Chantry, if nothing else."

Fenris nodded, and they were drawn off into the city by the Seneschal's chattering voice, talking about the landmarks and buildings they passed along the way.

"And here is the Amell Estate, although we are changing the records to reflect the new owner," he said with a bow, and left the two of them alone in the dark, dusty foyer as the stevedores hauled in Hawke's possessions around them.

"We'll need to hire on some servants," Hawke said to Fenris, thoughtfully observing a spider fixing her web in a corner. "Which means a trip to the alienage from what I understand. So much to do...."

Fenris closed the front door behind the last man, then came back to Hawke and wrapped his arms around him from behind. Hawke took most of his weight onto his heels, leaning back into Fenris, his head tilted onto the elf's shoulder. "It's hitting me now how long it's going to be until I see any of them again. Bethany, Carver, even Quill. Like mother and father but in a smaller way, but at least I know they're safe somewhere. Just not here."

Fenris kissed his neck and asked softly, "Can I make you feel better?"

"Can't hurt to try," Hawke said, turning around and pushing Fenris back against the wall.

* * *

"Alienage first," Hawke decided as the afterglow was still fading. Fenris groaned and went to find his leggings and greaves. "This place needs some serious dusting, not to mention all the spiders and that weird smell coming from the basement. One person should be able to manage all the cleaning and cooking, although I'll have to pay them extra in the beginning just to get this place caught up.... Fenris, we don't need an in-house launderer, do we?"

Those damnable robes, so difficult to get on, were at least easily pushed out of the way for some fun. Hawke merely rearranged himself and was already redressed.

"That depends on how often you plan on doing this to my leggings," Fenris said dryly, holding them up so that the split in the side-seam showed.

Hawke nodded. "A launderer it is, then."

Fenris shot him a look. "You do not have as many liquid funds here in the south as you did in Minrathous." he reminded Hawke.

Hawke groaned. "I need to start _investing_ again. I hate investing."

Fenris shrugged at him and suggested, "Pay someone else to do it for you."

"They won't have the magic Hawke touch," Hawke whined. He grinned and winked at Fenris. "You know, how everything I touch turns to gold." Then he reached out and groped at Fenris' cock, not yet covered by the greaves he was still buckling on.

"I didn't realize you wanted a gold one of those, Danarius," Fenris muttered, dancing away before Hawke could manage to arouse him again and make the whole process more difficult. 

"Ugh, Fenris, way to kill a mood. Come on, let's go."

Fenris strapped on his sword and Hawke picked up his staff, Dipterocarp wood from the Seheron jungle topped with a simple silverite blade on one end and a blue crystal on the other.

"Get ready, Kirkwall," Hawke said, swinging the staff onto his back and opening the door. He stepped out into the midday sun and paused. He grimaced. "Have to ask the way to the alienage."

* * *

The alienage was was worse than the slums of Minrathous, even at the height of the war with the Qunari when refugees poured into the city. The elves were cramped into a single square with short, skinny alleys leading off of it into more housing, the real buildings were best described as ramshackle, and they were surrounded by constructions of thin scrap-wood from shipping crates which seemed to house at least two people each. If there was some sort of system of waste disposal in this part of the city, it had become overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people in a single area; the whole place stank.

Fenris' sensitive nose wrinkled up in distaste. "I never thought I'd advocate for voluntary slavery, but this is a better argument than most could refute."

Hawke hummed an agreement, looking around. "Perhaps. But look at what's going to waste here, Fenris. All these people and none of them are working. It's the riots of '21 just asking to happen again."

They were being watched - had been watched from the moment they descended the broad stairs onto the dirt ground of the alienage, standing in front of the massive tree. Hawke reached out and touched the bark, wondering what it was and why it was painted; it seemed important.

"Leave the vhenadahl alone, shem," an elf snapped from behind them. "What are you doing here?"

Both turned to see three elven men, grouped tightly together and looking belligerent.

"Ah, the welcoming party," Hawke said with a smile, nodding at them. "I was just about to ask - is there anywhere around here I could see about hiring on a servant for my house?"

The mutter came up from the elf in the back, "'Vint, he's got a Tevinter accent."

The elf who'd spoken before sneered, "We know what 'Vints want with elven 'servants'. No one here will be stupid enough to follow you down a dark alley." His gaze flicked over to Fenris. "We would protect you if you leave this mage, da'len."

Fenris stiffened and scowled powerfully at the elf, his lyrium lighting up. "Never say such a thing to me again, caenissime!"

The elf spat at Hawke's feet, "Harellan. I guess they train their dogs well up in the Imperium."

"You aren't even Dalish, Saharel," a woman snapped as she trotted up to the gathering from out of one of the neater-looking hovels. "Stop pretending you know more than the eight words of Elvish I taught you."

"Arianni, we're just telling these 'Vints - " Saharel tried to say, but was overridden by the woman.

"Well, don't! You know I have need of a mage's help, and you are trying to drive one off? Ir ma'la abelas!"

The elf and his two friends scuttled off with nothing more than another impotent glare at Hawke and Fenris. Hawke turned to their savior, an older elven woman with stress lines on her brow and sleepless bruises under her eyes. "And who might you be?"

She bowed and introduced, "I am Arianni, formerly of the Dalish clan Sabrae. Please, are you truly a Tevinter mage?"

"Really and truly, straight out of the Seheron and Minrathous Circles. What need does an ex-Dalish elf have with a mage?"

Arianni took a deep breath and admitted, "It's my son, Feynriel. He has magic, and no one... no one I can trust to teach him. I've tried so hard - I don't want to send him to the Gallows, I've heard stories of how the mages are treated there, and I'd never see him again and he's all I have left." She was becoming more agitated as she spoke, her voice rising and shaking, "But the magic is hurting him so much, he needs a real teacher or I'm afraid he will... he'll...." she trailed off into a sob. "Please, Ser, it's you or the Templars. I don't know you, but you have to be better than that."

Hawk said mildly, "Your friends there were only just talking about what we do to elves in the Imperium, and you expect me to believe you'd rather risk that than Templars?"

Arianni's frightened gaze flicked from Hawke to Fenris - or more accurately, from Hawke to the collar around Fenris' neck. "My son is a mage," she said in a tiny voice, "Mages are free in the north, yes? It doesn't matter what happens to me."

For all that the words were brave, she was starting to shake like a leaf. Hawke reached out and put both hands on her shoulders, partially because he thought she might collapse.

She was hardly the first mother in the world to offer to sell herself for the sake of her mage child's education and betterment, but Hawke hadn't expected to run into this problem in the south. He wasn't looking for an apprentice - wasn't sure he had the time or really the inclination to teach someone - but then, she hardly had any other options.

"And I _am_ in the market for a servant," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"Ser?" Arianni's tone was hopeful.

"Where is the kid?" 

Arianni led them to the hovel she'd come out of, a tiny one-room affair with one end sectioned off by a curtain, currently drawn back to reveal a young human-looking boy who was flicking sparks off his fingertips. His head jerked up in surprise as they came in.

"Mother? Who are they?" The boy's eyes landed nervously on the sword the elf wielded, but that wasn't Templar armor and the other man was wearing robes and carrying a staff. "A mage?"

"Magister Garrett Hawke, lately of Minrathous." Hawke introduced, realizing that Arianni probably didn't even know his name. "Your mother tells me you're having trouble with your magic?"

Feynriel flicked a nervous gaze over to his mother, who nodded encouragingly. "Yes, Ser. It's the demons... sometimes I don't even realize I'm dreaming. They used to only come around about once a month but it's been more often now."

It sounded like the boy really only needed some tutoring in Fade theory and how to avoid the demons that plagued mages' dreams. Hawke could do that, like his father had done for him.

"I can help him," he said, still watching Feynriel but tilting his voice toward Arianni. "In return, I'm looked for a servant - a housekeeper - for my estate in Hightown. Room and board included for both you and your son; Maker knows the house has enough space for it."

Relieved tears flooded Arianni's eyes and she threw herself down next to Feynriel, sweeping him into a tight hug. "Oh, thank you, Messere, thank you!"

"Mother," Feynriel complained, still watching Hawke and trying to subtly peel his mother off of him.

"It's the Hawke estate - probably better known as the old Amell estate for now - in Hightown. I'll expect you early tomorrow, since it... doesn't look like you have much to pack up here."

* * *

On the way out of Lowtown, Hawke paused in front of the hanging suit of armor - a strange decoration even for a place like Kirkwall, he'd thought an hour ago - and realized there was a door and a sign accompanying it. It appeared to be 'advertising' for a tavern.

"The Hanged Man," Fenris read. "Looks like a bucket. Master, please don't."

"Too late!" Hawke called, already pushing the door open. Fenris swore and followed him in.

The floors were dirt. The walls might have also been dirt, underneath what was likely centuries of grime and stains better left un-examined. The dim lighting failed to hide the fact that most of the clientele were already sloshed despite it being barely dusk.

"Why do you need to investigate every filthy Maker-forsaken bar we pass?" Fenris grumbled quietly as Hawke looked around in open delight.

"All the interesting things pass through places like this, Fenris," Hawke insisted. "A city can be run from the Viscount's office, but it runs right through its taverns."

"Now there's a man who knows what he's talking about," said a pleasantly gravelly voice from a large round table in the corner.

Fenris watched Hawke's attention snap to it and sighed. The man had an aural fixation.

"And who are you, Serah Dwarf?" Hawke asked with a sly smile, approaching the table. "I need to know what name I'll be praying to later."

"Varric Tethras, at your service." The strange beardless dwarf patted the crossbow on the table adding, "And, sorry, but I'm a one-woman kind of dwarf, and Bianca here gets jealous real easy."

"Such a shame," Hawke sighed, and took a seat at the table. "Magister Garrett Hawke, at yours."

Varric, in the middle of taking a drink from his tankard, snorted some of it and came up hacking. "You're just... gonna throw that out there right away, huh? Ballsy, I'll give you that. Maybe not the smartest move."

Hawke shrugged. "Why not? I'm here perfectly legally. The Viscount knows, and your cute little Templars down here aren't allowed to touch me."

"So you're definitely fresh off the boat then," Varric surmised, raising an eyebrow. "You're not the usual kind of refugee we're getting in Kirkwall."

"Refugee! I am offended, serah," Hawke laughed. "No, I'm here to explore new business and investment opportunities."

"Sure you are," Varric agreed easily, a grin beginning to split his face. "Which is why the Maker must have brought you to my humble residence, because I have an opportunity that is looking for an investor...."


	5. treat those two impostors just the same

 

On the walk home through Lowtown and Hightown, Fenris brought up the misgivings he hadn’t wanted to share in front of Varric.

“An opportunity from a dwarf in a grungy bar - all I’m going to say is that the next one is going to have a nice fountain to sell you.” Fenris said, quite reasonably he thought.

“Do you not trust me to read people, Fen?” Hawke gave him a sad look. “When have I led us astray? I’m telling you, the Hawke golden touch. How do you think my father succeeded as far as he did?”

“Cunning and control, you’ve told me before.” Fenris leaned in when Hawke reached up to ruffle his hair. “And you have definitely led us astray before. The entirety of the Hadriana incident, for example.”

Hawke scowled and his hand tightened in Fenris’ hair by reflex. He realized what he was doing and a released his grip. “Yes, but that wasn’t because I read anybody wrong; she was just crazy, and I knew it. You can’t predict crazy like that. Also, that ended really well for us so you can’t complain. We got Orana and Quill out of that mess.”

“Not complaining,” Fenris pointed out mildly, “Just reminding you. Maybe the dwarf is crazy. Have you met many dwarves? For all we know their crazy presents differently, like by shaving off their beards and pretending crossbows are women and sexual partners, and stroking them suggestively through the whole conversation.”

“Yes, that was rather odd,” Hawke said thoughtfully, looking up into the night sky. “I don’t think he realized he was doing it. You might have something there.”

Fenris gave a satisfied nod, rocking his head under Hawke’s hand.

The house was dark and cold of course, not having anyone in it to light the candles or fireplaces. Hawke found the nearest bedroom to the door and collapsed onto it, already dead-tired.

“Fenris,” he said into the bare mattress, muffled. “Put sheets on this bed so we can sleep.”

“You’d have to get up for that, master,” Fenris told him, thinking of where to find the chest that contained Hawke’s stupid silk sheets.

“...Tomorrow.” Hawke decided. “Get a pillow and a blanket and come here, I am done with today.”

* * *

Arianni and Feynriel arrived early the next morning - too early, if you asked Hawke, which Fenris did not bother to. When the tentative knock came on the front door, his eyes shot open and full awareness of the unfamiliar room flooded him. If there had been movement, he would have attacked it.

“Door,” Hawke groaned without opening his eyes, shoving at Fenris’ hip.

Fenris smiled to himself and got out of the bed, pulling up the thick blanket around Hawke’s shoulders. His master sighed contentedly and nuzzled into the pillow, dead to the world again.

He managed to make it to the door before Arianni could knock again, though when he opened it she had her hand in the air to do so. The sky behind her was only just beginning to lighten.

“Oh! I hope we aren’t too early, only the other elven servants were leaving for their houses so….” Arianni trailed off. Fretfully she tried again, “Is it too early?”

Fenris stepped aside to let the woman through. She came with a bag in each hand, and her son behind her was carrying another, but that seemed to be all they owned in the world.

“If master Hawke didn’t give you a specific time, any time within the frame is acceptable,” Fenris recited. He wasn’t a steward or the slavemaster of a house; he was not used to familiarizing a new servant or slave with the eccentricities of the master, although he appreciated the importance of the job.

He figured he’d just have to fill Arianni in on the things he’d learned about Hawke. Even if she’d been a servant before, Hawke wasn’t like many other masters.

“Ignore the unpacking for now,” Fenris directed, as Arianni stared at the chests and crates around them. “Master Hawke and I will probably take care of that later today. He just needs someone for the cleaning and cooking.” Hoping to maybe put her at ease, he tried a smile and said, “He can cook, but he is very bad at it. Burns water, from what I understand.”

Arianni gave a startled little giggle and then looked surprised that it had happened. “I’m sorry, serah, I don’t know your name or… or what you do for Messere Hawke?”

“Servant quarters are probably down this way,” Fenris said, taking one of the bags from her and setting off deeper into the house. “My name is Fenris. I am master Hawke’s bodyguard, and a slave. I have belonged to him for… five years now. I follow him around and try to keep his foolish head attached to his body when he gets into trouble.”

Arianni’s tone was nervous, “You say you are a slave very easily. We aren’t supposed to have slavery in the south, although all elves know how much of a lie that can be.”

Fenris opened a likely-looking door down a narrow corridor and found himself in the back of a kitchen, a large oven lined up against the perpendicular wall to the right. If this house was designed at all like the southern Tevinter styles, then the next door to the right - 

Led into another hall with three doors on the left, spaced evenly every few feet. The back walls of those little servants’ quarters would catch the heat from the ovens, warming the rooms for the cold southern nights.

“Pick any of these,” Fenris told her. “We won’t be likely to take on any more servants soon, so don’t worry about spreading out for now."

Feynriel took off down the hall, heading for the farthest door. Fenris hesitated, knowing that there would be other, larger rooms for an apprentice, but then figured that the boy would probably want to stay close to his mother. He turned back to Arianni, who was watching him still.

"I am more accustomed to the Imperium, where slavery is not reviled as it is down here. Some masters are sickeningly cruel to their slaves, it is true; my first master, Danarius, was like that. But most are ambivalent towards their slaves, and some, like Hawke, are unusually kind. He...." Fenris hesitated, trying to put into words something he'd only felt before. "It is like his slaves are lives entrusted to him. He makes sure they are healthy, clothed, and fed, and in return he expects them to work. Most are more than happy with the arrangement."

"My mother isn't going to be a slave." Feynriel said with a scowl, popping up at Fenris' shoulder.

Arianni's lips pressed into a thin line and she shot an unreadable look at Fenris. She scolded, "Hush, Feynriel!"

"You are worried," Fenris realized. "Do not be. Master Hawke is not trying to get another slave. He has had servants before; he intends to pay you. Before we left for Kirkwall he offered to take this off," Fenris touched the hawk-embossed pendant, absently tracing the swoop of the wings. "I... did not react well."

"It's very nice?" Arianni offered, sounding unsure of the protocol for complimenting a slave's collar. Fenris suppressed a smile so she wouldn't think he was laughing at her.

"Master Hawke will not be up for at least another hour," Fenris said, setting the bag he was still carrying down in the hall. She could pick a room later. "So Feynriel should come with us. I intend to look around the house and find the master's bedroom. That will be the first place you need to attend to. Cleaning up the dust, fresh sheets on the bed.... You would probably know better than me."

Arianni flushed. "I've never... actually been a servant before. In the alienage I taught writing and simple math, and Elvish to anyone who wanted to learn it, and in return people gave me food and clothes."

Fenris did not close his eyes and pray, but it was a close thing. Of course Hawke picked the one elf with less experience than him.

"Well," he took a calming breath. "We'll figure it out."

* * *

The master bedroom had been located, quickly dusted off, and the bed fitted with the silk sheets. Fenris, looking out the window behind the bed's headboard, realized Hawke would be up soon.

"Is there a market near here? Somewhere to buy food?" He asked Arianni, who hesitated and nodded.

"It's not far, just around the corner and down the street. It runs a little pricier than we could ever afford, but they have good food. Fresh."

Fenris went for one of the chests they'd dragged into the bedroom, rifling through it until he turned up with one of Hawke's robes. He stuck his hand in the breast pocket and came out with a handful of silver and a gold coin.

"Never fails," he muttered, shaking his head. He poured the coins into Arianni's hand. "Here, go to that market and get breakfast for all four of us. Pastries filled with fruit if they have any. Master Hawke likes fruit and most sweet things; he probably eats half the cane produced in Seheron just by himself."

Arianni clutched the coins like they might try to jump from her hands.

"Quickly," Fenris added when she seemed frozen in place.

Feynriel was poking through the chest of drawers against the east wall, pulling out a pair of trousers half-eaten by some sort of bug. "This is gross. How'd your house get like this?"

"Not my house," Fenris told him. "And it was abandoned for many years, although from what I understand the basement was in use by an illegal slaver and smuggler ring. We haven't even seen that area yet... master Hawke probably will not have your mother clean that alone. Or he will hire some special help. The smell is quite potent."

Feynriel dropped the trousers back into the drawer and looked up at Fenris, interested. "So what's it like in Tevinter? Are mages really in charge everywhere? Don't the Templars try to smite them and take them away?"

"Ha!" Fenris paused, watching the boy. "Oh, you were serious. The Templars in the Imperium are nearly powerless, especially over the mages. The Magisters rule the country with an iron fist, although not every mage is a Magister. My own sister used to be an example of the worst of what could happen to a mage: servant in the house of a Magister, learning scraps of magic from his table and doing research so that he or she can take the credit. It's a much better, much easier life than being a slave, or a regular servant, but not all live in such glamour as master Hawke."

"Still better than what happens everywhere else, then," Feynriel muttered. "Locked up in a tower, not allowed to see your family ever again, watched by Templars all the time... there's Tranquil in the market some days, and I think that if anyone ever tried to make me like that, I'd do almost anything to stop them."

He was watching Fenris closely as he said this, but out of the corner of his eye. Almost anything, he said. Fenris knew what he was talking around. "Master Hawke does not use blood magic, and he cannot teach it to you. If that is what you want to do with your power, you will have to find your own way to Tevinter. There's probably a slaver ring in Kirkwall that will give you a fast track, though not a comfortable one."

Frightened by the venom in Fenris' tone, Feynriel backed against the drawers and stuttered, "No, no, I don't want - it's just that's what the demons always offer first, so it must be pretty great, but if a Magister like Hawke won't touch it then there must be a reason."

"They offer it because blood magic weakens the will," Fenris sneered, although he tried to modulate his tone a little. Hawke wouldn't like him to scare off the apprentice this early. "Making it easier for the demons to plague your mind and eventually infest your body. They offer blood magic freely because they know the later gains will be much more."

"Are you a mage? How come you know so much about blood magic?"

"My former master, like most of the magisters in the Imperium, practiced it. That is all you need to know."

Fenris was saved from further questioning by Hawke's voice calling, "Fenris?" from down the hall. Fenris poked his head out the bedroom door to see Hawke wandering down it, blinking sleepily and scratching the hair on his bare chest with one hand.

"Master! Put a shirt on, Feynriel and Arianni are here."

"Well someone moved my luggage," Hawke complained. "I'm already regretting not bringing the blanket with me; why is this country so damned cold?"

Fenris opened the door to let Hawke through, picking up the robe he'd found the money in. "Here. I expect we'll get used to the cold in time, although perhaps moving straight here from Seheron was not the smartest way to prepare."

"You guys lived in Seheron? Did you meet any Qunari?" Feynriel asked, moving over toward Hawke. Yes, Fenris had scared him; he was avoiding getting too close to the elf. "We've got a bunch of Qunari in the city right now, you know. They live in a section near the docks, like the alienage."

Fenris answered Feynriel, watching Hawke's eyes go wide with shock and his head tilt back to think. "Yes, Master Hawke grew up in Seheron. We have met many Qunari, although not always on... friendly terms. There is a war between the Qunari and the Imperium. Why are they here?"

"'Cause their boat got wrecked," Feynriel said, matter-of-fact. "And I guess they're building a new one? But nothing's being built so maybe they're waiting for one to come for them."

Hawke's head finally tilted back down to level. He looked at Fenris grimly. "We're going to need to talk to the Viscount very soon."

"Varric wants an answer tonight at the Hanged Man," Fenris reminded him. "But the important parts of the house can be made livable today. Arianni, by the way, has no experience as a servant."

Hawke groaned, rubbing the scar on the bridge of his nose. "And I should really assess him and see where I'll have to start teaching," with a vague gesture to where Fenyriel was poking his head around another door.

"It's a bathing room," he reported, pulling back and closing it again. "But someone didn't drain the tub and now there's things growing in it."

"Excellent," Hawke clicked his fingers and pointed at the half-elf boy. "Your first test: get rid of the water in that tub however you can with magic, without breaking it."

"Okay," Feynriel said dubiously, and went back to the bathroom. Hawke followed, leaning in the doorway to watch.

"We're going to need a new tub," Fenris muttered behind him, beginning to unpack more of the clothes. The old things were shifted to a new pile labeled 'to be burned' in his mind.

"I hope not," Hawke replied over his shoulder. "It's set into the floor, bath-house style. If it breaks, so does the room below it."

"Excellent," Fenris mocked, much less enthused than when Hawke had said it.

* * *

By midday they'd unpacked the bedroom and worked out that it was best to have Arianni start by working her way around the first floor, with one detour up the stairs and down the master bedroom's hall. Fenris set aside the empty packing crates to be used for the years-old garbage they were finding in every nook and cranny of the house.

"Viscount, then lunch," Hawke decided, looking outside. "We'll bring something back for you two, Arianni."

Out the door, Hawke looked around and then back at Fenris. “We’re just going to walk around until we find it,” he decided, ignoring Fenris’ obvious eye-rolling. “This is a nice city, it’ll be good to see more of it.”

“It was too much to hope you’d ask for directions two days in a row,” Fenris admitted.

The first lane Hawke led them down went to a dead-end cul-de-sac of more Hightown estates. After that quick turnaround, they found the market Arianni must have gotten their breakfast from, now bustling with the lunch crowd, and past that what seemed to be a town square, left mostly empty by the prosperous residents of Hightown.

There was a likely looking building just off that square though, with the tall and striking architechture that Hawke associated with places of power. In front of it was some sort of notice board posted with papers.

Hawke approached the board, wondering what it was, wondering if it would tell him that the building behind it was where he could find Viscount Dumar.

The letters at the top proclaimed it the Chanter’s Board however; some function of the southern Chantry that they didn’t have in the north. He read a few of the postings anyway - they seemed to be small, skilled jobs, acts of violence not big enough to hire a mercenary company for, and notices of upcoming Chantry events.

A commotion to his right drew attention. A man with red hair in polished white and gold armor was stalking up at a fast clip, followed more slowly by an older woman, straight out of what must be the Chantry. They were arguing as the man aggressively pinned another bounty to the board, calling for the deaths of the Flint Mercenary Company.

The man went to stalk off, out towards the rest of Hightown, when the woman took the bounty off the board. He whirled back around, drawing the bow that had been slung over his shoulder, and in one smooth movement - Fenris seeing the danger, stepping in front of Hawke protectively just in case - he’d loosed an arrow, pinning the paper again. Shaking, the woman left it this time.

“Well, that was interesting,” Hawke murmured after they’d left, taking another look at the posting by Sebastian Vael. “As in the Starkhaven Vaels?” He looked out at the direction Sebastian had disappeared in.

“Master?” Fenris asked, wondering what Hawke was thinking; it was never anything good for their health when it put that look on his face.

“The Vaels rule the Marcher city Starkhaven. I originally investigated it as an alternative to Kirkwall - because of their rather zealous Templars here - but decided not to because the Vaels were murdered as I was looking into it. Too much unrest, instability, not good for what we needed. If I’m reading this situation right, that’s their prodigal son, sent to the Chantry and out of reach of the assassins. And he’s looking for vengeance.”

Fenris sighed and pulled down the bounty letter and the arrow it was pinned with. He stuck the arrow into the bindings of the scabbard on his back and folded the paper into his armor.

Hawke grinned at him and threw an arm over his shoulders, reeling him in to plant a kiss on his temple. “You know me so well.”

“The Viscount?” Fenris suggested, tilting into the embrace as Hawke started off again.

“Well, if that’s the Chantry then hopefully the place we want is that one down there,” Hawke nodded down another lane, containing a more sprawling complex. It wasn’t as grand as the Chantry, but this wasn’t the Imperium where every government building had to be as opulent and impressive as possible.

It was indeed the Viscount’s keep, with large doors that bolted on the inside and an almost oppressively quiet atmosphere inside. There was a cluster of gossiping nobles standing near the doors, either just in or on their way out, and various aides walked briskly between offices carrying paperwork from one person to another. To the right appeared to be the city guard’s administration, and to the left Hawke spotted Bran Cavin up on a balcony, arguing with a distraught Orlesian man.

“The guard needs to do something!” the man declared, trying to lean into Bran threateningly. As Bran had some clear Ferelden roots and four inches of height on the Orlesian, it was not working. “My mine is infested, the miners cannot work - I am a citizen, I pay taxes, I am providing jobs for the people of this city - ”

“Your mine is outside of the city’s purview and not the responsibility of our guards.” Bran replied placidly, his expression never changing from ‘mild interest’. “As you have been told before, Hubert.”

“Serah Cavin!” Hawke broke in, over whatever the Orlesian was going to say next. “How nice to see you again. Is the Viscount taking visitors?”

“Good day, Magister Hawke,” Bran said, dismissing the sputtering Hubert from his attention. “Viscount Dumar is not - I said not - !”

Bran’s expression lost its calm as Hawke swanned by him at full pace, going for the doors to the Viscount’s office. Hawke kept up a distracting patter, “I’m sure he’ll see me right away, we had some rather important business to discuss, moving some exports and imports, you know how complicated that can get, best discussed in person - ”

He pulled open the doors and Dumar looked up from writing something on paper. “Bran, I said no visitors….” He trailed off as Hawke set himself into one of the chairs in front of the desk, crossing one leg over the other. Fenris took up his usual post, looming at Hawke’s shoulder in an obvious way.

Dumar’s eyes flicked from the staff Hawke had casually leaned against the arm of the chair, to Hawke’s face, to Fenris and then the chain at Fenris’ neck. Weakly he got out, “Magister Hawke, I presume?”

Hawke nodded at him. “At your service, Viscount. Rather more quickly than you thought, in fact. I have heard you have a Qunari problem in your city; growing up in Seheron, I know a lot about the Qunari. I hope to be able to offer you some insight on what they want.”

Eyes lighting up, Dumar leaned forward. “Oh? I would be glad to hear what you know. Their presence in my city is… unnerving, and not appreciated.”

Observing that the Viscount was not trying to throw Hawke back out, Bran frowned and left, closing the door behind him.

"Well, firstly, I assume they have told you some lie about a ship?"

Dumar frowned. "Well, it's evident enough that their ship was destroyed and they had to make land just outside Kirkwall. We have the wreck to prove it. And they did say something about building a ship, or perhaps that one would come for them in time.... I'm not sure. It was a very trying day, and they don't speak the trade tongue very well."

"That's at least one Ben-Hassrath with them," Hawke commented over his shoulder to Fenris, who nodded and memorized the information. He turned back to Dumar.

"There's several things wrong with what you just told me. Qunari do not do anything unless they can do it well. If none of them could speak trade tongue with anything less than a perfectly understandable accent and exact grammar, they would not have spoke at all; I've seen them resort to pantomime or, failing that, literally dying instead of revealing sub-par knowledge of a language. The one who pretended not to speak to you was likely one of their spies, accomplished liars who, for the good of the Qun, break many of their tenets. They are called Ben-Hassrath.

"Next, the ship. During my time in Seheron, a typhoon crashed one of their dreadnoughts against the Sehenam Cliffs, and by the grace of the Maker and the force of the typhoon's waters its gatlok powder did not explode. The Qunari who survived climbed the cliffs and marched down the beach all the way to Alam, where they fought their way to another ship, took it, and tried to set sail again. Of course the city sent ships after them, and they were eventually sunk, but the lesson you can take from it is that if you give Qunari a mission, they will not stop until it is done. If they were waiting for a ship, you would have one less ship in harbor and many less Qunari in your city.

"So because they are still here, you can safely assume that there is something here they want."

"What could we possibly have that they need?" Dumar burst.

Hawke leaned forward, putting his elbows on the Viscount's desk and his resting his chin on his folded hands. "That is the question I asked myself, and what I've been trying to answer. They don't have much reason to be down this far south - aside from their usual spies in Orlais and the Marches, that is - since, as far as we know, they prefer to conquer in an orderly fashion; no skipping over troublesome territories. The assumption has always been that they want to regain Seheron, then move on the to the rest of the Imperium, and then, presumably, the rest of Thedas. That is likely still the case. What you have here is not a true invasion force... what are their numbers? Did you get an accurate count?"

Dumar shuffled through the papers on his desk, unearthing one from near the bottom. He cleared his throat, flushing a little. "Seventy-something. The count was not entirely accurate because it's very difficult to tell the horned ones apart."

Hawke sat back again, rubbing the scar on the bridge of his nose the way he did when he was thinking. "Seventy. The dreadnoughts hold crews of fifty usually, so either this one was overstaffed or... there was only one ship in the wreckage? You are sure?"

Dumar nodded eagerly. "We've been over it many times. Only one keel, and no matter how odd your ship, it has to have a keel."

"There were two." Hawke decided. "I can't be one-hundred percent sure, but I think there were two ships. Something happened to one of them, the other one took on the survivors of the missing ship and... and what? Why Kirkwall?"

Hawke fell deep into thought again. Fenris looked boredly around the room, noting assassination points - mostly the windows behind the Viscount, although the walls looked thin enough that he could probably phase through them.

Dumar watched Hawke for a moment and then ventured, "Magister, not that I don't appreciate the help, I do have to wonder why you care about the Qunari being in the city."

Hawke came back down to Thedas, looking at Dumar with his brows raised. "Well, Kirkwall is my home now, is it not? Apart from that, I have seen what the Qunari do to a civilization like ours - oh, you look surprised, but the Imperium and the Marches are nearly twins compared to either of them against the Qun. Their way of life is so foreign to outsiders that most cannot even comprehend the depth of the gulf between them, like throwing a rock down a chasm and never hearing it hit the bottom. Left in this city long enough, they will have no other choice but to begin attempts to convert the people."

"But what concern is it of yours?" Dumar pressed.

Hawke spread out his hands to the side, expressing his honesty as he said, "Kirkwall has opened its walls to me when I asked, when I came seeking safe haven and a new fortune. Anywhere I make my home, I will endeavor to improve it to its utmost potential. And whoever or whatever threatens that goal will find itself crushed beneath my heel."

The Viscount's eyes were wide, his mouth slack-jawed. He closed it and swallowed audibly. "Yes, ah, very good," he said hoarsely. "Kirkwall - Kirkwall thanks you for any help you might give."

"Well, Viscount," Hawke smiled at him, but it didn't seem to put him at ease. Perhaps there were too many teeth in it. "I haven't done much of anything _yet_. But give me time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me someone has by now noticed what I'm doing with the chapter titles and the title of this whole fic. Admittedly they are barely fitting to the content (aside from the fic title, which will become evident as we move forward) but I am pulling lines from a limited source.
> 
> It's been a while since I played DA2 so let me know if I fucked up something about layout etc.
> 
> Also it's at this point that I want to make it clear that I am in no way advocating for slavery, either in Thedas (fictional world, shouldn't matter, but some people take offense like it's the real thing so) or in real life. The opinions expressed here are not the opinions of the author, nor are they even the permanent world-view opinions of the character. There are things outside of both Fenris' and Hawke's experience which may later change things. Some of the things written up to this point make it seem like I'm trying to justify or qualify it. Promise I'm not.


	6. a trap for fools

 

When Hawke and Fenris finally left the Viscount's office, Bran was yet again fending off that Orlesian man, this time with a tall, powerfully built woman shifting uncomfortably behind him.

"I demand to speak to the Viscount on this matter! Clearly he _is_ taking visitors, you lying dog, or else that - that mage would not have been allowed in - "

"What is he making a racket about, Bran?" Hawke asked over the Orlesian.

"Don't concern yourself with Hubert's issues, Magister Hawke," the Seneschal replied blandly, "He was warned about the Bone Pit before he bought it to reopen the mine, and now he wants the city to pay to keep it open. Ser Aveline, if you would please remove him."

Aveline took the man's arm and started moving, giving him the option of walking with her or being dragged. Hawke paced behind them, interested. "And what is the Bone Pit?"

"A magister? From Tevinter?" Hubert stumbled into Aveline, trying to put her between himself and the scary mage. "Ah, it is my mine, or it was, it's about to be closed again. The miners refuse to work and keep going on about dragons or some such nonsense, and the city guard," he paused to shoot a glare at the highly unimpressed Aveline, "Will not go in to reassure them that there is no danger."

Hawke perked up. Fenris looked skyward and whispered, "Please, Maker, no."

"Dragons, you say?" Hawke asked, beginning to smile.

"You didn't say anything about dragons to the Seneschal," Aveline said to Hubert. "If it's dragons, that threatens the whole city."

"It's not dragons!" Hubert said loudly, then realized that he'd really caught Hawke's attention. "Or, well it might be, but there's no way to be sure and no one will check!"

"I'll check," Hawke and Aveline offered in unison, although Aveline sounded resigned whereas Hawke was trying not to sound as excited as he was. Fenris swore softly in the background.

They stopped and looked each other over closely.

"It'll be safer with more of us, probably," Aveline said, eyes trailing over Hawke's robes and staff. "You're the magister, right? The guard was briefed on you."

"Indeed I am. Magister Garrett Hawke, and you are?"

"Ser Aveline Vallen. If you really want to look into Hubert's mine problem, meet me at the city gates tomorrow morning."

"Finally!" Hubert exclaimed, "Thank you!" He kept talking, but they'd already reached the doors and Aveline just shoved him through. Hawke kept walking, ignoring him.

"Let's get lunch, Fenris," he said, motioning for Fenris to start walking next to him again. "I am _starving_."

* * *

Later that evening, Hawke pushed open the door to the Hanged Man and paused over the threshold, looking around. Nothing had changed; even the same people were drunk in the same seats for the most part. The bartender, Corff, waved them over when he looked up.

"Varric's waitin' for you up in 'is room," Corff told them, wiping down a mug. "Go right on up, it's the first one at the top of the stair."

Hawke thanked him and pulled Fenris away from assessing the wine bottles crowded on one of the shelves behind the bar.

"Nothing up to your tastes, little wolf," Hawke muttered to him, patting his shoulder around the spikes of his armor.

"One of them said 'wine drink'," Fenris related with some horror. "I think it wasn't legally allowed to call itself wine."

"We'll have a nice ale," Hawke decided. "It's hard to fuck up an ale. Or whatever Varric's got, I suppose."

Varric's suite was easy to find, right where Corff said it was. Hawke knocked on the door.

"Ah, the magister!" Varric said when it was opened. "Come on in."

Varric led them to a large table, already set up with a pitcher of ale and Bianca sitting in one of the chairs. He detoured to a wall shelf and pulled down two more mugs, turning back to the table with them, and saw that, while Hawke had sat easily across from the empty chair next to Bianca, Fenris was once again standing behind one shoulder.

"Sit down and relax, Short Dark and Loomy," he said to Fenris as he poured the ale around and shoved two of the mugs to Hawke's side of the table. Fenris waited until Hawke looked back and nodded at him, then sat. "I highly doubt anyone's going to try to kill your magister tonight; he's only been in the city two days now."

"I didn't tell you that," Hawke said, smiling into his ale. He frowned at it. "Did you piss in this?"

"Not me. That's just the fine taste of true Kirkwaller ale. Trust me, once you get used to it, it's still just as easy to go back to the normal stuff. I looked into you; my sources on the docks say your ship came in yesterday morning, met by the Seneschal himself. How is dear Bran?"

"Oh, you know, suffering the same plight as Seneschals everywhere: overworked, under-appreciated, capable of murder at all hours of the day."

Varric's eyebrows went up. "You have Seneschals up in Tevinter?"

"There are equivalent positions; it's the same story everywhere, is it not? But I didn't come here to talk about Cavin. Did you talk to your brother about the Deep Roads venture?"

"I did." Varric took a deep breath. "It's a two-hundred gold buy in - "

Hawke was on his feet instantly saying, "Nice talking to you," but Varric carried through:

" _Or_ fifty gold and some Warden maps of the Deep Roads."

Hawke stopped, still standing. Fenris was already halfway to the door, ready to check the hall outside. "What makes you think I have Warden maps?"

Varric sipped his ale like it was tea, taking his time about answering. "I don't. I do, however, have a lead on someone in Darktown who does have them."

"And you, with your connections, need my help to get them?" Hawke probed. "I don't have to tell you how much that sounds like a trap to me."

"My informants tell me he's a Mage-Warden, and he might not want to part with those maps peacefully. I'm not about to go up alone against a Warden, especially not one with magic. You, on the other hand, have lots in common with him to talk about."

"What in the void is a Mage-Warden doing in Darktown?" Hawke asked, finally sitting back down. Fenris glared at the ale still sitting in front of his seat and elected to wander around Varric's rooms instead, staring at the decor and memorizing entry-points.

Varric shrugged, turning to keep watch on Fenris's progress out of the corner of his eye. "Healing the sick and poor, from what I've heard. He's running a free clinic."

Hawke's brow furrowed. "Isn't Darktown literally a sewer?"

"The upper parts of it, yeah."

Nodding, Hawke declared, "So he's some sort of madman. This should be simple. Fenris and I have an appointment up at the Bone Pit tomorrow morning, but the evening should be free again. I trust you’ll have a location for us by then?”

Varric bowed his head graciously. “There’s a lead among the Ferelden refugees I can track down. By tomorrow I’ll have his location, his name, and the color of his favorite smalls.”

“All very important information,” Hawke agreed gravely. “I’m interested to know how good your spies are, Serah Tethras. Do you know the color of my favorite?”

Varric pointed at him, grinning, “Trick question! You don’t wear any.”

“That’s an easy guess, though,” Fenris said from over by Varric’s bed, which he was looking under.

“Can I help you with something, Smiley? Looking for anything in particular?”

“That’s a nice bolthole under there,” Fenris said, regaining his feet. “Does Corff know about it or did you have it put in special?”

“Fenris,” Hawke chided, “Come sit back down. Leave the poor dwarf some of his secrets.”

Varric waved a hand. “He hasn’t even found the smuggler’s pocket yet, I’m not worried. Either of you know how to play Wicked Grace?”

Hawke groaned loudly. Fenris smiled as he sat back down at the table. “We do, but master Hawke is forbidden by his sister from playing again. He cheats very badly.”

“I’m not a rogue! I don’t need sleight of hand!”

“He tried to use magic to compensate and wound up setting the last three decks on fire.”

“But!” Hawke broke in, trying to speak over Varric’s raucous laughter, “Fenris is great at it. I’ll just watch.”

* * *

Arianni had breakfast waiting when Fenris awoke, fresh pastries from the market.

“He will take it in bed if you let him,” Fenris told her, “But don’t. The longer it takes him to leave bed in the morning, the longer it takes for anything to get done. Put it in the sitting room, the one that faces east. The sun wakes him up faster.”

Hawke griped about the hour when Fenris shook him awake, but rolled out of bed and put on the robe Fenris had hanging on the closet door.

Then, suddenly, he was all energy - before he’d even seen the raspberry-filled pastries Arianni had for him. “Dragons today, Fenris!” he chirped. “Well, I hope. That Orlesian said it wasn’t, but a man can hope, can’t he?”

“I too have hope.” Fenris growled, putting on his own armor.

Hawke squinted at him as he stepped out into the hall. “You’re hoping for not dragons, though. Because you hate when I have fun.”

“If your fun ever included anything that didn’t have at least a fifty-percent chance of ending in death or dismemberment, I would wholeheartedly support it. Alas.”

“I liked it better when you were afraid to talk back to me,” Hawke said, running his fingers through Fenris’ hair and tugging on it lightly. He frowned lightly; there was a tension in Fenris' shoulders that wasn't easing when Hawke touched him the way it usually did.

"How's the lyrium?"

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. "It is beginning to burn, if I pay attention to it. It's fine if I'm distracted."

Hawke leaned on him as they went to the sitting room. "I'll drain the lines before we go into this Bone Pit today."

"Thank you, master."

Aveline met them at the gates as she had said, already waiting and leaning against a building with her head down.

"Good morning, Ser Aveline!" Hawke called as they approached.

Aveline's head went up instantly, and underneath her steel helmet they saw the dark shadows of a sleepless night. She opened her mouth and gave a jaw-cracking yawn, then managed to say, "Sorry, good morning. It was a long night for me. Captain Jeven had me on a double patrol in Lowtown."

"Sounds wonderfully dangerous. Should you really be coming with us today?"

Aveline glared at him. "I've done longer stretches without sleep for the guard before, I'll be fine. Let's go."

Hawke looked over to Fenris, who raised an eyebrow, and shrugged at him. They followed the guardswoman out onto the Wounded Coast, where she presumably knew the route to this mine.

* * *

"Dragons! It really is dragons!" Hawke shouted to Fenris as he concentrated an enchantment of ice into Fenris and Aveline's weapons.

Ahead of him, Fenris looked over to Aveline and rolled his eyes. "Yes, master, it's dragons."

"Grease going down on the ones in the back, don't move!"

Fenris and Aveline both faced one dragonling each, not a terrible challenge but still frightening to see those sharp teeth and cold reptilian eyes flashing toward them. Fenris waited for it to extend its head to bite again, and brought his sword down straight through the neck.

Meanwhile Hawke had set his grease trap on fire, which did a little damage to the fire-resistant dragonlings but not enough to kill them. Fenris dodged the first one but tripped on a sweeping tail and fell onto the next. His lyrium lit up, and on the ground he plunged one glowing hand into the dragonling's chest. He had no idea what the anatomy of these things was like, but most creatures kept the heart somewhere between the upper arms.

He clenched his fist and pulled, coming out with valves and several lobes of lungs. Too high for the heart then.

The dragonling collapsed dead on top of him, still leaving his legs exposed to the other one. Fenris kicked at the movement he could feel near his knee.

"Ow! Calm down, Fenris, it's me."

"Sorry, master," Fenris said, finally getting his hands underneath the corpse well enough to shove it off. "Was that all of them?"

Hawke snorted. "This close to the exit of the mine? No, these are the runts. If there's dragonlings, there's a whole nest somewhere. Can't wait!"

"You two alright? You both handle yourselves well, although I can't say I've ever gotten to work with a mage before," Aveline flourished her blade, still glowing with cold energy. "It's... definitely different."

"You southerners miss out on so much by locking all the magic away in a tower." Hawke told her. Without looking, he gestured for Fenris to come closer. "There are so many quality of life things you don't have down here that I miss already about the Imperium. I'll take care of those lines now, Fenris."

Fenris sighed in contentment and turned around, pressing his back against Hawke's chest. Hawke wrapped his hand lightly around Fenris' throat, the only place with a good cluster of lines not covered by his armor, and leaned his chin on top of Fenris' head.

The lyrium lines brightened and seemed to almost move on Fenris' skin. Aveline took a step back from their spectacle, watching both men close their eyes and relax into each other.

She had to look away, though, when they finally separated and Fenris turned such an adoring look on Hawke that it made her stomach squirm. Wasn't he a slave, and Hawke his master? Shouldn't he hate the man who held his freedom away from him? And what right did Hawke have to look like he loved Fenris just as much, when he willingly held the key to that freedom?

She cleared her throat and asked, "What was that?"

"Tevinter sex thing."

Aveline inhaled too fast and choked on saliva. Fenris burst out, "No, master that's _worse_ than the truth."

"Oh, is it? That's lyrium in Fenris' skin, it bothers him sometimes, so I help drain the excess. She would definitely have believed the sex thing, though, Fenris. Everybody already thinks the Imperium is a land of hedonism and mages, and hedonistic mages."

"Can we just go kill some more dragons?" Fenris groaned.

"I knew you'd eventually see the fun in dragonslaying."

* * *

Hawke pulled the severed dragon head out of his pack and held it up for Hubert to see. "This was one of the little ones, the bigger ones were just too much trouble to carry back."

"D-Dragons?" Hubert stuttered, backing away from the head like it would come to life and bite him.

"Yep, a whole infestation of them. A nest, somewhere deep in your mine. It'll take weeks of the mine being closed to clean out, maybe more if we can't find a good mercenary company to hire on with Fenris and me. So there's the matter of payment for the mercs, and of course some compensation for the work I've already done scouting your mine for you...." Hawke's eyebrows raised suggestively.

Hubert looked from the dragonling head, to the blood liberally coating Fenris' armor and sword, to the staff on Hawke's back. "Um. Payment, yes."

"You do have some way of paying us, correct? Ser Aveline and I didn't just risk our lives for nothing, you know."

Aveline opened her mouth behind Hawke to correct him that she'd done it for the guard and didn't expect payment. Fenris stepped on her foot and muttered, "Wait for it."

"Ah, I can pay you! Yes! But I do not have much in the way of actual coin, it all being tied up in the mine, so later after it is reopened and making money again...." He trailed off at the growing thunderous expression on Hawke's face.

"I don't work on credit, Serah. If your funds are tied up in the mine, I'll take the mine."

Hubert brightened. "I have been looking for a partner to run the mine! That's an excellent idea, Magister."

Hawke clapped him on the back, blindly handing the dragonling head back to Fenris. "Glad we agree, then. A full partnership of the mine, half the profits to each of us. I'll take care of this pesky dragon problem and we'll have it up and running in no time. My man Jensen here," Hawke reached back again; Fenris propelled the half-terrified Jensen forward into his grip. "Is something of a leader among the miners. They'll need a raise to go back to work."

Hubert sneered at Jensen, who realized he was facing something much less scary than a dragon and firmed up, glaring back at the Orlesian. "There are hundreds of Ferelden refugees in Kirkwall," Hubert told Hawke, dismissing Jensen from his attention. "If one group won't work for the wages I provide, someone else will."

Hawke's friendly smile went fixed and dangerous. "You misheard me, partner. I said they'll need a raise to go back to work."

Hubert shivered and nodded.

Hawke turned and walked the group away from the market Hubert had met them in, before the man could rile him up any further.

Jensen glanced over at Fenris and quickened his pace to walk beside Hawke for a moment. "Thank you, Messere," he muttered. "You're a good man."

"I know that loyal employees work harder, and that you gain loyalty by taking care of your employees. It's a symbiotic relationship, Jensen. Work for me, and you will be taken care of."

"Thank you, Messere," Jensen said again, sincerity in every word, and split off back down to Lowtown.

"We killed all the dragons in the mine," Aveline said when Jensen was gone.

"Did we? I wasn't really sure."

Dryly, "You almost brought the mine down around us with your celebratory fireworks."

"Well, it was a large drake we killed. If Hubert thinks the mine is more trouble than it's worth, he'll sell it to me much easier later on."

Aveline shook her head. "That's a little too underhanded for me, even if Hubert is a human toadstool. But... this was good work, and productive. If you ever need the guard for anything again, you can call on me."

"What if I just want a fine lady warrior, though?" Hawke looked over, grinning at her.

She reached for the chain of a necklace around her throat and pulled up a pair of gold and silver rings hanging off it. "Sorry. Married."

"They're invited too."

Aveline went bright red and started walking away. "Goodbye, Hawke!"

"Offer's open!" Hawke called back after her. He turned to Fenris. "They are really stuck-up in the south. I don't get shot down nearly as often back home. Maybe there is something to those accusations of hedonism."

Fenris just looked at him and wondered if it was worth listing off all the things Hawke took for granted about the Imperium that the south would think was weird. Eventually he just pointed out the pertinent one: "They don't usually marry for political reasons down here, so there is much less sleeping around outside of marriage and more scandal when it does happen."

"Sounds boring. Let's go see Varric."


	7. don't give way to hating

“His name is Anders, as in from the Anderfels, and apparently that’s the only name anyone knows him by. He’s running his free clinic at the end of a Darktown tunnel; when the lantern is lit, the clinic is open for business.”

Hawke rolled his hand. “And?”

Varric’s beardless face went confused. Realization dawned after a moment. “Oh! He also does not wear smalls. You’ve already got so much in common, this is going to go great, I can tell.”

* * *

Hawke, Varric, and Fenris let themselves into the mostly-empty clinic. Hawke blew out the lantern-light as he passed it; no need for such a delicate conversation to be disturbed. The man within turned on them with a furious expression, reaching for the staff leaning next to him, and then faltered and went slack-jawed staring at Hawke’s robes and staff.

“You’re not Templars,” he said slowly, running eyes over their strange party.

Hawke looked down as if he was making sure. “Damn, did I forget the plate armor again? It’s just such a hassle to put on, and don’t get me started on those ridiculous skirts.”

That startled a laugh from the man - Anders the Mage-Warden, presumably.

“Of course, you’re wearing feathers, so perhaps you think long red skirts are in fashion,” Hawke added, nodding at the black-feathered pauldrons. His mouth twisted thoughtfully. “Though you are making them work somehow. They just need to be replaced with new feathers.”

“There aren’t many ravens and crows in Kirkwall,” Anders said faintly. “Just pigeons. Wait, you didn’t come here to talk about fashion… I mean, did you? Because I will. But you’ve brought a warrior and a rogue, so I don’t think so.”

Hawke bowed shallowly as he said, “Magister Garrett Hawke, at your service. No, I didn’t come to talk fashion, but if you want to after we’ve concluded our business here then my evening is open.”

“M-Magister?” Anders stuttered, his eyes lighting up. “As in Tevinter? You’re from the Imperium?”

Hawke paused and eyed him. “Yes? Is that a problem?”

“I always wanted to go there. To live where being a mage isn’t a curse or something shameful to hide… where magic is celebrated instead of locked up.” Anders ended bitterly.

“It is rather great,” Hawke agreed, “Although not every mage is a magister, which is a distinction you southerners sometimes have trouble making. But I didn’t come here to talk about the Imperium.”

“Why did you come here? What’s a magister doing in Kirkwall, anyway? Why aren’t the Templars all over you?” Lowering his voice, he asked, “Do you need help getting out of Kirkwall quietly?”

Hawke’s eyebrows flew up. “No, but I’ll keep that in mind. I’m here by invitation of the Viscount, investing in local businesses to bolster Kirkwall’s economy, and as I am still attached to the Minrathous Circle as a Research-Enchanter, the Kirkwall Circle and its Templars have no jurisdiction over me.”

“Okay,” Anders said slowly, working through all of that, “But why are you in my clinic? Not that it’s not nice to talk to a fellow mage, but I don’t think you showed up out of solidarity.”

“A little bird told me that you have Warden maps of the Deep Roads in this area. I’m interested in acquiring them.”

“What for?”

Hawke deadpanned, "I have a deep and unrelenting passion for map collecting."

Varric started coughing trying not to laugh. "Uh, let's not provoke the man, Hawke. We're organizing an expedition into the Deep Roads before the darkspawn population recovers from the Blight. Those maps could help save our people's lives."

Anders shivered. "If you really cared about their lives, you wouldn't lead them down into the Deep Roads at all."

"But money," Varric argued. "We'd pay you for the maps."

Anders was still hesitant, even though - Hawke looked around quickly to check - he was clearly living in near-poverty aside from clinic supplies. "I - I do have the maps. But I don't want money. I need help with something."

* * *

"Karl?" Anders' voice broke on the name.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" the Tranquil Karl asked.

Anders clapped a hand over his mouth, barely catching the hoarse sob. "Karl, please."

"I don't think that's him anymore, Blondie," Varric said gently.

"He didn't want to live like this. He never wanted to live like this." Anders had a dagger in his hand.

"I wanted to die. Why did I want that?" Karl asked, looking around at all four of them.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't save you, Karl," Anders choked out.

"Stop."

Anders stopped, knife raised above the unresistant Karl. He looked back. "Please, don't make this harder for me," and he tried to move again, but Fenris had darted forward.

Fenris caught his wrist and twisted, making him cry out and drop the dagger. He hissed, "Master Hawke said _stop_."

Anders got to his feet, fists clenched at his sides, blue crackling under his skin and in his eyes. "What? What is _wrong_ with you? What do you want?"

"It's not what I want," Hawke snapped. "It's what you want, unless you want your friend dead when there might be a way to cure his Tranquility."

Anders went deathly still. "Don't. Don't give me that hope, not again."

"He came back once, we all saw that. It wasn't a spirit or a shade, it was a person." Hawke shook his head. "I'm not sure of much, but I know that has to mean one thing: he is still in there, alive, somewhere. He _can_ come back. We only need to figure out how to make it permanent. But that can't happen if you kill him now."

Anders looked down at Karl and then quickly jerked his gaze back up, unwilling to see that placid expression, the fresh burn scar on his forehead. "You think you can cure Tranquility? Like people haven't been trying for years and years?"

"I don't think anyone's ever put an abomination next to a Tranquil before," Hawke countered. "This is new. It's the best lead anyone has had since the Chantry started making mages Tranquil. And if we follow it, you could get your friend back."

Anders' eyes slid closed slowly, pushing tears out to trail slowly down his face. He tilted his head back. He might have been praying, but no sound came out and Hawke didn't think he was Andrastian - or at least not a practicing one.

Finally Anders looked back down. "He can't stay in the Circle. They... the Tranquil aren't safe there, and they want to use him against me."

Hawke nodded. "Agreed. Tranquil are free from their Circles in the Marches, yes?"

"The Circle can't keep them if they don't want to stay," Anders confirmed, "Although most choose to anyway. Nowhere else to go. I can't... I can't take him. Please, I can't see him like this every day, it would kill me, I would... I'd...."

Hawke stepped forward, touching his shoulder. "He can stay with me. I have a big house, he can work on whatever he wants."

"Why are you doing this," Anders whispered, head ducked low so that he couldn't see them, and they couldn't see his face. "You just wanted Warden maps, why do you even care?"

"Because the Tranquil are worse than abominations." Hawke's tone was hard, factual. "An abomination at least has something that used to be human in it. You can understand its motivations, its reasoning, you can bargain with it. The Tranquil are nothing, a speck of ordered chaos disconnected from our world and everything that could possibly matter to us. If I can cure one of them, the rest will follow, I promise you that."

Anders stared at Hawke with his eyes shining - not with tears this time, but with the fervor of a believer. "If they couldn't make mages Tranquil - if they didn't have that over us - we could do so much."

"This is all rather touching," Varric stage-whispered, "But can we have the rest of this conversation outside of the Chantry? You know, before _more_ Templars come?"

"Come on, Anders," Hawke threw an arm around Anders and subtly nodded for Fenris to get Karl to follow them. "You and I have a lot to talk about."

* * *

They dropped the exhausted healer off at his clinic, leaving with the Warden maps and a promise from Anders to come to Hawke's estate tomorrow evening.

"Your life is never dull, is it Hawke?" Varric asked as they walked, heading for the nearest lift to Lowtown.

Hawke pretended to think about it. "Sometimes I have a slow Makersday. But not usually, no."

Varric laughed, shaking his head. "Well, keep those maps close by. I'll be talking to Bartrand tomorrow, but he's just starting to get everything together. We won't have a date for the expedition for at least a month yet."

Hawke hummed thoughtfully. "That's fine, I've got plenty to occupy my time. There's research to do on this Tranquility thing, and the Qunari problem to see about, Kirkwall is an exciting place. I thought I'd be bored here!"

Fenris snorted softly from behind them.

"Hawke...." Varric was hesitant, which Hawke already knew was strange for him. "You seem like a good person to me. I heard what you did for the Bone Pit miners and that elf kid."

Hawke tilted his head looking down at the dwarf, his expression mildly worried. "Thanks."

"You just fought for - but he was a mage, wasn't he. Do you only think that slavery is wrong when it happens to mages?"

His expression clearing to relief, Hawke said, "Oh, no, I don't think it's that wrong at all. Tranquility is, and people being locked up and left to waste. I don't even agree with imprisonment for criminals. Everybody should be allowed to work, doesn't matter if their work is painting a nobleman's portrait or tending a crop. Slavery is just a way to get more people working."

"Unwillingly." Varric pressed. "What if those miners had been slaves? Who works in the mines in Tevinter? If there's a dragon infestation in one of their mines, or it's just unsafe, how many slaves do they send in anyway? If the slaves can bring out enough ore to pay for whatever their collar cost, isn't it just profit to keep sending them in to die? And they have no choice about it, they can't go on strike like the Bone Pit did. It's death or death for them."

Hawke stopped walking, his brow furrowed deeply. He looked back at Fenris, who watched him impassively. "Fenris...."

"You own no mines, master." Fenris offered, unsure of what Hawke was looking for when his eyes were staring so intensely into him. "Your slaves are happy, they know their fortune. The slaves of other houses dream of being bought by House Hawke. Please, master, you are good to us."

"But he still keeps slaves. Including you, in the south, where slavery is illegal."

Fenris rounded on Varric angrily. "Be silent, pusillus. You know nothing!"

"That's enough, Fenris," Hawke snapped, as Varric asked, "Is that some kind of Tevene insult?"

"It's slang for dwarf in the same way that knife-ear is for elves," Hawke told him shortly, and then in Tevene to Fenris, "Ignore him. Let's go home."

" _Domine_ ," Fenris said as he followed Hawke again, hovering so close that they nearly touched. "He doesn't know what he talks about. He does not know you."

Hawke's fist was clenched. He released it to put his hand on the back of Fenris' neck, drawing the elf closer so he could kiss the top of his head. Fenris sighed, calmed by the familiar motion.

"I know, _serve_. They aren't my people. I can't help them."

Hawke took a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning his face up to the bright stars and two moons. They were in Hightown now and almost home. "I have to write to Bethany. Whatever work she's doing in Qarinus can't be as important as what I could have her doing with this Tranquility project." He looked back to make sure that Karl was still following them; the mage was so quiet, but he was still there. A thought occurred to him. "What does a Tranquil think of slavery?"

Karl looked at him blankly, a peaceful smile on his face. "I do not have an opinion on the matter. I don't think I would mind it as long as I could be useful."

"Right," Hawke shook his head. "I don't interact much with Tranquil; I forgot you had all your choices and opinions taken away from you."

"I can make choices."

"A purely logical decision is not a choice. A tree doesn't choose to grow, it just does. You need feeling behind it, desire. Do you want to be Tranquil forever? Would you want to be normal again?"

"Regular people seem very conflicted. I prefer peace and clarity of mind."

Hawke's lip curled; he turned away quickly so that Karl didn't see it. "Well, I already said you couldn't make choices."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one all happens real fast, but if I staggered it out more it would all just be filler, and none of it fun or important. So here's a lot of character development all at once.
> 
> Also Karl lives! Because this Hawke has way more resources than canon!Hawke when it comes to research into magic. And we're developing the slavery angle more... this counts as action right? Only we're 20k+ words in with not a single fight scene. But who plays DA games for the combat right?


	8. when all men doubt you

The next morning was Makersday, and when some of Kirkwall was getting ready to attend the first Chantry service of the day, Fenris was still not letting Hawke sleep in.

“You told me to wake you early for the post, master,” Fenris said reproachfully, from his position trapped mostly under Hawke. He’d tried to nudge the man awake and gotten rolled over on for his troubles. “The letter you didn’t write last night?”

“It was late,” Hawke groaned and nuzzled into Fenris’ neck. “Just like now is early. I thought I told you to wake me nicely.”

“The last time I tried to wake you ‘nicely’ you kicked me in the ribs.”

“I was startled! I’m not used to being woken up with a mouth on my cock. If you wanted to do that now, though….”

Fenris squirmed pointedly and Hawke released him. He ducked under the blanket, to the darkness so warm it was almost stifling. Hawke’s fingers threaded through his hair as he pulled the knot on the drawstring and slid his sleeping pants down.

The blanket had sealed closed behind him, and between its thickness and Hawke’s mostly quiet noises, the only feedback Fenris got was the way Hawke’s hands clenched against his head, his legs shifted to either side. It was enough. 

Hawke was already half-aroused from sleep and then the anticipation. Fenris closed his hand around the base, pulsing the lyrium lines just enough to light them up and make them tingle against the sensitive skin. His breath ghosted over the head teasingly, until Hawke bucked in his grip and pulled at his hair reprovingly.

Fenris laughed against him, making sure he could feel that, and licked delicately at the head, just enough to wet it, and when he knew Hawke would be thinking that Fenris was just going to keep teasing, he swallowed it all the way until his lips touched his fingers.

He moved his hand down to Hawke’s sack, giving himself more room to move his head up and down. Lyrium still glowing, he rolled the sack in his hand and hummed around the head of Hawke’s cock.

His warning was Hawke’s nails scratching his scalp, a shuddering tension in the thigh he had trapped under one arm. And then Hawke was coming, his legs closing tightly around Fenris’ head for a moment. Fenris licked his lip and pulled the pants back up, then crawled his way up to fresh air.

It was blessedly cool after the heat under the blanket. “Proud of yourself?” Hawke asked.

“You seemed to like it,” Fenris replied, smiling at him. Hawke tugged him closer and reached down to wrap one hand around Fenris’ own erection. “Thank you, master.”

When Fenris was done and had them both cleaned up, Hawke bounced out of the bed with fresh energy. “On the list for today: write to Bethy, get Karl settled in, teach Feynriel… something. Maybe try to find his specialty? That’s important.”

“Noted.” Fenris said from the rumpled nest of blankets, still luxiriating in the warmth. His white head lifted up. “The Bone Pit. Hubert owes you paperwork.”

“If he doesn’t send it over today, I’ll take it out of his skin tomorrow.”

“That’s everything then. Never a dull moment.” Fenris tensed as he realized his words had echoed back to last night. By the silence and stillness from Hawke, he’d noticed it too.

Hawke sat on the edge of the bed and pet Fenris’ hair. “Have you ever wanted to be Liberati?”

Fenris sat up and grabbed for Hawke’s hand with both of his, holding it tightly. “Did I displease you? Master, I can make up for it, you know I can. Please tell me what it was, please.”

“Shh, Fenris, I don’t mean to get rid of you, don’t ever worry about that; I just meant to ask if you’ve ever wanted to be free. If you asked, I would free you, Orana, Quill…. You could have anything you wanted.”

“I have all I want.” Fenris’ eyes bored into Hawke, almost mad in their intensity. “Freedom can offer me nothing more, only take what I treasure.”

“You could stay with me even if you were free. I wouldn’t send you away, Fenris.”

“But a Liberati cannot go with you where a slave can. Please, master, all I want is to always be by your side.”

Hawke sighed heavily, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry I brought it up, Fenris. Don’t worry about it again; I’m not freeing you or sending you away.”

Fenris slid out of the bed and onto the floor, where he knelt and rested his head against Hawke’s leg. “Thank you.”

* * *

Feynriel watched the slave elf lead his mother away, taking her to the market to buy food and things for the estate. He looked fearsome with his constant scowl, spiky armor, and lyrium engravings, but he had been nothing but kind so far. And it was easier to interact with another elf instead of with Magister Hawke, who seemed friendly enough but was still a human. He decided his biggest problem was not his mother’s disappearing with Fenris, but with the way Hawke was looking contemplatively at him.

"Um... Magister? Are you going to teach me?"

Hawke shook his head, breaking from some kind of reverie. "Just call me Hawke, unless you think you can pronounce Praeceptor."

"Praeceptor," Feynriel repeated obediently, mangling it.

"Yeah, just Hawke. I'll have to teach you Tevene because most of my books are written in it, but we'll leave that off til we know your specialty. How did your magic manifest?"

"I never had one of those explosive manifestations," Feynriel told him, casting his mind back to remember what his first expression of magic was. "I just... did things. I'd start the fire without flint, and the rocks the shem kids threw would just bounce away, and once when the... the slavers came they couldn't come out of the Darktown tunnels because the grate wouldn't come up. I mean, I think that one was me. Maybe it was just stuck."

"Not promising," Hawke muttered to himself.

"Is that bad?" Feynriel asked, worried that there was something wrong with his magic.

"No, no, not bad. Just unfortunate. We'll just have to teach you some basic spells from every branch and see what's easiest for you. It's unusual that you didn't have a manifestation surge, but not everyone does."

Feynriel peered up at him and dared, "What was your manifestation?"

Hawke grimaced, eyes going distant with the memory of Malcolm's ash-grey face twisted into horror. "I was very young, living outside of Alam on Seheron. The Qunari knew that my father, a Tevinter mage, was in the area. They attacked us, and I could see that my father was going to be captured. I manifested with entropy magic. Ordinarily a Qunari mind is very resistant to mental effects, part of their belief in the Qun, but I have always been very strong-willed, and I was very afraid."

"That's amazing," Feynriel breathed, awed by the idea of it. One mage taking out an entire party of those horned warriors - this was why mages were feared, this power was why the stigma was worth it.

"It wasn't." Hawke rebutted shortly. "My mother, brother, and sister were with us as well. I had no control. The nightmares I inflicted on my enemies were visited twice upon my family, because they had no resistance to it. That is why control is the imperative, Feynriel; so that you can cause pain only to those you mean to. And only _when_ you mean to. Magic is more dangerous than just having the power to burn your enemies. It is like a demon itself, capable of poisoning a mage's mind."

"I already know not to deal with demons or blood magic," Feynriel said, nodding along.

"No." Too sharp. Feynriel flinched and Hawke lowered his tone. "Never mind. You're too young to see it right now, too untrained. You will understand more later."

Feynriel didn't respond, looking down almost sullenly.

"Maker, I never thought I'd be the one saying 'I'll tell you when you're older.' Who is your father, anyway?"

"Antivan merchant named Vincento," Fenyriel muttered, still not looking at him. "He doesn't talk to us."

"Does he know you're a mage?"

Feynriel hesitated, then shook his head. "The magic runs in mother's family. He doesn't know."

"Don't tell him. I can probably protect you, but there's no point in spreading the word around to people who have no need to know."

"Will I always have to hide?" Feynriel asked, sounding miserable again. "It's awful, and there's no one else I could talk to about magic before, aside from mother. She wouldn't let me go hang out with the other boys in the alienage after she knew; they all think I'm some kind of stuck-up shem now because I can pass for human."

Now Hawke paused, thinking. "At some point, you're going to surpass my ability to teach, unless you happen to specialize in entropy as well. When that happens, I can send you to the Imperium with my name. You can be among peers there. But if you want that to happen sooner rather than later, you'll have to learn Tevene very well."

"Can we start now?" Feynriel asked. "Or magic first?"

Hawke laughed. Feynriel was young and had the energy and mood swings to prove it. "Magic, then Tevene. It's not an easy language to learn after Trade, although they share similar words. For one thing, trade puts a lot more importance on word order and a lot less on the endings...."

* * *

“So you have known master Hawke for four days now,” Fenris said to Arianni as he held the servants’ side door open into the alley next to Hawke’s estate. “Are you having any trouble?”

Arianni watched him closely for a moment, and then decided that he was asking as someone of similar station to hers, not as a spy for their master. “He is not like any other shemlen I have met,” Arianni told him. “He is kind to Feynriel and I, and he does not act like the other servants’ masters. I have heard them gossiping in the markets.”

“I remember, four days in from meeting him, I was in his bed,” Fenris shared. “Not because he had ordered it - he will never - but because he asked, and I was beginning to believe that he was truly as good as he seemed.”

“Is he?” Arianni asked softly, stopping at the mouth of the alley just before they reached the bright sunlit Hightown street.

“Better.” Fenris waited patiently for Arianni to gather herself - the empty bags they’d be filling draped over her arm, her hair and clothes arranged neatly. He’d given her the few clothes left in the house that were not moth-eaten, so that she could dress like she belonged in a Hightown market.

“How did you - come to belong to Messere Hawke? Did he, ah, buy you?”

“He killed my former master in a Magister’s duel, and gained all of his property and lands. It’s all perfectly legal in the Imperium, although it doesn’t happen often. Most magisters don’t want to take even a small risk that they’ll lose everything. But Danarius was powerful and he knew it, and they all believed Hawke to be talented in theory but powerless because he makes no secret that he doesn’t use blood magic.”

“He doesn’t?” Relief shone out through Arianni’s eyes, some of the lines around them vanishing suddenly. “Oh, thank the Maker!”

Fenris raised his eyebrows at her. “You gave your child to be taught by someone you thought would use blood magic, despite how much you clearly dislike it?”

“I want him to live, and to learn how to resist the demons that plague his sleep.” Arianni’s tone was hardened. “Messere Hawke was the best option. If he went to the Gallows….” She shivered violently, looking over her shoulder in that direction.

“What do you know of the Gallows? The Circles in the Imperium are very different I believe.”

“They’d have to be. The mages are prisoners in their Circles - I’m Dalish, I’m sure I told you, so I never grew up fearing mages like most of these people did. They think it’s only right that mages are locked away from regular folk. Some of the Circles, I’ve heard, let their mages take day trips to nearby cities or settlements, or they have them posted in a lord’s castle as protection against apostates or assassins. The Gallows, though… Kirkwall produces a lot of mages; the Veil is so thin here. Some of them get out of the city, but most get caught by the Templars. They go into the Gallows, and no one ever sees them again unless it’s years later and they are Tranquil selling goods in the market.”

“Prison,” Fenris murmured, “Master Hawke will not like to hear that.”

“Will he do something? Won’t that get him into trouble?”

Fenris hesitated, but remembered that they basically held her son’s free life hostage. “He is already doing something. That Tranquil you met briefly, Karl, has given master a good lead on curing Tranquility. But directly? He most likely will not. Master Hawke takes care of his people first, and he has no people among the mages in Kirkwall. He will not seek such an opportunity out, but if one occurs he is always in favor of improving quality of life.”

“And Feynriel is… one of his people now?”

Fenris nodded at her. “He has taken you into his house; you both are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gave me some issues, pieces of it were like pulling teeth. I'm still not very happy with it, but it's basically a filler chapter since not much important comes of it. Just there to give you some more backstory. Also a lil sexytimes.


	9. meet with Triumph and Disaster

The wall in his little Chantry cell was plain, unpainted wood, sanded smooth and set up to partition this small space from the nine others in the hall. Sebastian could draw the grain from memory by now, he’d spent so much time staring numbly at it from his bed, curled up with his knees protectively in front of his chest.

The door opened. It would be Elthina again, come to offer more hollow reassurances about the Maker’s will - 

His bounty page, creased deeply along the middle and worse for wear, landed on the blanket in front of him. It had been taken down again - Elthina swore she hadn’t, but one of the other sisters easily would have - and he hadn’t been able to find the energy to write up another and post it. He stared at the page, wondering why it was here but unwilling to raise his head to the doorway.

“Flint Mercenary Company, all dead,” a man said, his voice cheerfully relating the deaths of dozens. “I’m not too interested in that reward, though. I’d just like you to answer a question I have.”

Sebastian looked up finally, taking in the black-haired man with an almost bronze tan, a scar on the bridge of his nose, and robes and a staff. He couldn’t even find the energy to be alarmed that there was a mage in the Chantry unaccosted. “I’ll get the money.”

He started moving for the first time in hours - since he’d woken up, sat up in bed, and started staring at the wall trying to find a good reason to get moving. Here was one, throwing paper at him.

“You don’t even want to hear the question? You should, it’s a good one. Fenris, don’t I have good questions?”

“Usually, master.”

“See?”

Sebastian paused. He wanted to get out of bed, get the man’s money, but he also didn’t. “What’s the question?”

“It’s a hard one, think carefully,” the man warned, wagging a finger at him. Sebastian squinted and waited. In a vague way, he recognized a Tevinter accent and realized this was one of their mages. “Now: what’s the Prince of Starkhaven doing sitting in the dark in a Chantry?”

“I am not the Prince of Starkhaven.” Sebastian told him, monotone. He could be, he should be, but the Maker had put him here and spared his life, and the Maker would move him again when He decided to.

The ‘Vint leaned in, grabbing Sebastian by the front of his Chantry robe. He told Sebastian, “Wrong answer.” and dragged him out of the bed and out of the cell.

Sebastian stumbled along in his grip, locking eyes with an equally startled Elthina in the hall, who had the food and water in her hands that she’d been bringing him every day since he had stopped leaving his cell.

“Maker, there’s almost no life left in you, is there?” the man commented, conversationally.

That was annoying. “I am grieving,” Sebastian replied, aggravated. He picked his feet up and pulled back against the grip the man had on his robes. “Who are you? Where do you think you’re going?”

Sebastian had forgotten about the second, growly voice. It belonged to a very well-armed elf who now took him by the shoulders and propelled him along from behind when the ‘Vint in front finally let go of him.

“Sunshine is good for the immortal soul,” the ‘Vint said sincerely as he pushed open the doors of the Chantry and led all three of them into the bright day. Sebastian squinted and threw up his arm in defense, barely able to see anymore. “Ah, now that’s a handsome face. You definitely need to bathe, though.”

“Who _are_ you?” Sebastian asked again, more desperately this time. None of this was making sense. This morning, when the tolling bells woke him, Elthina was there promising to give him time to come back to himself and relearn his faith in the Maker, as she had been every morning in the week and a half since he’d gotten the letter about his family. Now it was midday - of the same day, probably, although his grasp on time had been getting weak - and he was seeing sunlight, and there was a strange Tevinter mage dragging him around.

“My apologies, I am Magister Garrett Hawke of the Minrathous Circle. I took care of your mercenary problem, and now I’m here to help with your succession problem. I am something of a problem-solver, if you like.”

Sebastian gaped at him. “But I don’t _want_ to be the Prince of Starkhaven!”

Hawke's lip curled. "I don't care what you want; you have a duty to your people."

* * *

“Hawke,” Aveline began tiredly, squeezing the bridge of her nose, “I’m sure things were different for you in Tevinter, but here you cannot just waltz into the Chantry and drag out one of the brothers. It disturbs people, even if the Chantry brother isn’t trying to press charges against you.”

She gestured widely to the people coming and going out of the Chantry, most of whom were giving them a wide berth on the steps and watching out of corner of their eyes.

“Sebastian just needed a little kick in the pants,” Hawke told her with a winning smile. “Someone was just letting him stew in it; that’s unhealthy. When my mother died, I was out in the field the whole next week working til I dropped.”

Fenris pressed his lips together, remembering that week. It had not been fun for Bethany or him, watching Hawke try to work himself half to death, using magic to bring in nearly the entire harvest himself.

"You're lucky it was my patrol in Hightown that the sister found, another guard might have tried to arrest you just on principle. Are you incapable of taking anything seriously?"

"Incapable, no. Unwilling, yes. It's part of my charm, and why eventually you'll accept my invitation to yourself and your - husband? wife? you never said."

Confusion stole over Aveline's face. "Husband, Wesley. What invitation?"

Incredulously, "To my bed? Remember? When do I get to meet the man who stole Aveline's heart?"

"To your - " Aveline sputtered, turning red with both anger and embarrassment. "You were serious? He's dead, Hawke! In the Blight!"

"Ah." Hawke drew back, blinking. Fenris buried his face in his hands and drew them down slowly, trying to calm himself. He was either going to start laughing or start a fight to leave this conversation. "Well, my condolences. You know what would bring your spirits right - "

Fenris decided to do some proactive bodyguarding, and inserted himself between Aveline and Hawke, crowding the man backwards as he said loudly, "Master, I have just remembered an urgent appointment you set up with Hubert for just after the middle bell, and it is about to ring so we should get going."

"And to think I wondered what a mage would need a bodyguard for," Aveline muttered as she turned away to continue her patrol.

"Fenris, I know I forget things sometimes but I don't think there was any meeting with Hubert today." Hawke complained as he allowed himself to be drawn away.

"She wasn't biting, master," Fenris told him, "Unless you mean 'about to bite your head off'."

"If you never try, you'll never know," Hawke shrugged. "Maybe I can wear her down. You know I like a dangerous woman."

"Yes, I do remember Hadriana."

Hawke hissed. "Okay, ow, you didn't have to bring that up."

"I'll keep bringing it up as long as you keep antagonizing dangerous women into trying to kill you; that was the deal."

"It seemed much fairer before. Let's go to the Hanged Man, maybe Varric will have good news about our expedition!"

Fenris muttered, "Yes, maybe it's been cancelled. That would be excellent news." He was not looking forward to trying to keep Hawke alive in the Deep Roads.

Kindly, Hawke pretended not to hear him and kept walking.

* * *

Hawke walking into the Hanged Man, despite being a regular thing for the last week, still caused a hush to fall over the room. Varric, sitting in the back at his usual table, thought that he probably had a similar effect on any place he went.

"Hawke! How'd it go with Vael? Did you get the reward?"

"Psh, money. Connections are just as important, my friend. I made contact, and a very good impression if I do say so myself." Hawke took a seat at the table, signaling to Corff for some ale. After the incident with the wine drink, he wasn't risking wine again.

Sitting down next to him, Fenris snorted. Varric got a sinking feeling that he wouldn't be seeing any money for helping Hawke hunt down the Flint Mercenary Company.

"Varric, I need your help," Hawke said, suddenly intent.

"What? Who needs bail money? You and Fenris are both here...."

Hawke waved a hand. "No, no, not like that. You seem to have a good network of people in this city, but how good are they?"

Varric sipped his own ale, choosing his words carefully. "You should send Arianni to the market with a guard or less money. You aren't paid up with any gangs for protection and my people can only divert them for so long."

"Thank you for the warning," Hawke said, tapping the table in front of Fenris in a silent communication: remember that. Fenris nodded. "I want to spread the word about something. I intend to do something about the Qunari in this city, but in order for that to happen I need to know why they're here in the first place. Someone, somewhere in Kirkwall knows. I can promise them the protection of a Magister of the Imperium if they step forward with information."

Varric whistled low. "That's ambitious. What's wrong with Qunari?"

"They are...." Hawke grimaced. "Well, I don't have a problem with the way they want to live. Actually I find that we agree on a lot of things, but they live for conversion and I _don't_ agree with that."

Varric shrugged at him. "Can't say I know much about the Qun anyway. I'll put the word out there, but there's no telling if someone will bite. No guarantee that anyone even knows; those Qunari are keeping real quiet in their district."

"Someone knows," Hawke assured him. "And they probably need the help. The Qunari are not known for being forgiving, and if they're still here it's because whatever they want and whoever they want it from is still here too."

"Their little compound is right on the docks," Varric said, his eyes widening.

"Whatever it is came by sea," Hawke nodded, "And something they know says that it'll leave that way too."

* * *

Arianni was sweeping out the foyer, cleaning up the dirt Hawke always brought back from Lowtown on his boots, when there was a knock on the door.

She looked up, startled. Two weeks into working for Hawke, there hadn't yet been any visitors who knocked. Varric had let himself in - through a locked door, to be accosted by Fenris wielding a sword - and Hawke had brought that Mage-Warden from the Anderfels in himself, up through the Darktown tunnels in the basement.

Someone knocked again. She realized she should probably answer that.

There was a little hole in the wood, at about eye-height for a human. She stood on her tip-toes to reach it, and saw a young man in basic chain-mail armor; definitely not a runner then, but he didn't appear to be armed.

"Was that the door?" Hawke asked from behind her.

"It's some man in light armor, Messere Hawke," Arianni said. "No weapons I can see."

Hawke's eyebrows went up. "Well, open it I suppose."

Arianni opened the door, blocking the man's view of the house with her body. Fenris' many words about Hawke's enemies had stuck in her mind. "Yes? Who are you?"

"Er, is Serah Hawke here?" The boy shifted uneasily, trying to see over her head. The narrower walls of the foyer were all he would be able to see through the thin opening.

"This is his house," Arianni countered, more aggressively as she sensed weakness in him. "Do you have a message?" Her tone and expression said quite clearly _Because you clearly aren't important enough to need to see him for something personal._

"Uh, yes! I have a message, but it should be given to Serah Hawke - "

"Magister Hawke." Arianni corrected firmly.

"... Magister Hawke... in person. To ensure he gets it."

"A message, Arianni?" Fenris said over her shoulder. Arianni twisted around, looking back into the house - Hawke was gone, and Fenris had appeared in full arms and armor. "I will bring him into the foyer, go see if master is taking visitors. He's in the drawing room."

Arianni handed the situation over to Fenris gratefully, going quickly down the hall to the drawing room. Hawke was there at his desk, writing like he hadn't just been at the door with her.

"Um, Messere Hawke?" she tried, wondering if she'd somehow imagined him before; perhaps it was a magic thing.

Hawke looked up with a reassuring smile. "We must present certain appearances, Arianni. Master of the house doesn't just wait around ready to answer the door, even if I am dreadfully bored today."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, Messere. Shall I send him in then?"

"Oh, I'm sure he can wait a little longer," Hawke said airily. "Fenris is bored too, and he enjoys scaring boys in armor."

Arianni pressed her lips together, not quite managing to hide the mischievous smile. "Perhaps you'd like some tea, Messere?"

After the tea set was steaming on a side table, Arianni went back to the foyer and said to Fenris, "Messere will see the messenger now," without even looking at the young man.

Fenris, who had been staring unblinking and unnaturally still, motioned down the hall. The man nearly fled in front of him, his boots clattering. Arianni laughed softly to herself and picked up her broom again.

Hawke was back to writing. Fenris announced, "A message for you, master," and closed the door behind them.

Hawke looked up. "Well? What is it?"

"Ah, from Knight-Commander Meredith. She wants you to come to the Gallows tomorrow for a check-in with the Templars. She - " The man read the sudden hostility in the room, emanating almost exclusively from Fenris still behind him, and stuttered, "She s-says that sh-she considers it her duty to keep t-tabs on all mages in the city, even ones not from her Circle. Ser."

"Magister." Fenris growled from behind him, voice at its lowest most snarling measure.

"Magister." the messenger corrected with a squeak.

"What a lovely invitation!" Hawke exclaimed. "But I'm afraid I'm rather busy tomorrow, and the day after that, well, I have to check up on some business investments, and the day after that is Satinday so I'll surely find something important to do, and what you're going to tell Meredith is that Magister Hawke is a very busy man who falls entirely out of her jurisdiction, and I am not foolish enough to walk into a nest full of snakes and expect to walk out unaccosted. If she wishes to speak with me on any matter she may need help with, or if she has a business proposition, she can _make an appointment_."

The man - Hawke thought likely a Templar recruit, now that he knew who he worked for - nodded mutely.

"Good man. Fenris, see him out."

Fenris' hand came down on the messenger's shoulder, forcefully turning him when he seemed unable to move by himself. He guided the young man back to the door and almost gently shoved him out, turning back around to see Arianni clutching her broom.

She asked, "All right?"

Fenris sighed deeply. "Nothing we aren't prepared to handle."


	10. none too much

Hawke met him in the hall after Fenris had locked the door behind their unwelcome visitor. He looked at Fenris. "I suppose you want to prepare for the worst-case?"

"It would be the best way to keep everyone safe," Fenris said mildly.

"Arianni, where's Feynriel at?"

"In the back garden up a tree still, Messere." she replied, looking worriedly between them. "Is something wrong?"

"If the worst happens and that Knight-Commander sends a pack of Templars after us, you need to know how to escape. Karl's still in his workshop, let's get him on the way."

With all three of his household in tow, Hawke led them down the stairs to the basement and showed them the door leading into the Darktown tunnels. "We'll have to find a way to disguise this, though. Anders is right on the other side of the tunnel, I'm going to go ask him if he's got a bolt-hole you can use; if not perhaps Varric...."

"Messere Hawke, why would the Templars come after you? I thought you were protected from them." Arianni fretted.

“Protected politically and somewhat physically as well. They don’t have a legal way of coming after me, not when I’m abiding Chantry laws by being attached to the Minrathous Circle still, and I’m here in Kirkwall by invitation of the Viscount. But I'm beginning to get the idea that the Knight-Commander doesn’t care much about the legalities, so we must prepare for the case where she sends her Templars to smite first and ask questions later.”

Arianni went silent, clutching Feynriel’s hand with white knuckles.

“The Templars would not harm you if you came willingly,” Karl offered.

Hawke snorted. “Says the Harrowed Tranquil man.”

“I was a danger to myself and others, planning a risky escape for freedom. Tranquility has improved my life, as the Knight-Commander knew it would.”

“Karl,” Hawke began in a tightly controlled tone, “Stop talking to me.”

Karl went silent too.

They reached the end of the tunnel into Darktown proper, a trapdoor in the floor that led into the ceiling of some half-collapsed alcove. Hawke levered the door open and dropped the rope ladder down, motioning for Fenris to go ahead of them.

Fenris jumped straight down, bypassing the ladder, and looked carefully around. After a moment he whistled shortly, and Hawke waved for the rest of them to go as well.

Anders seemed happy to see them, although his smile dropped when he caught sight of Karl. “Hawke? What’s going on?”

“Feynriel and Arianni, I think you met Anders before but this is his clinic. Anders, we just got a messenger from the Knight-Commander. She will likely not be happy with the response, so we’re setting up a worst-case plan. Do you have a bolt-hole or a place to hide here?”

Anders hesitated, looking from Hawke to the elves and then to Karl. Finally he said, “Yes. Come on, it’s in the back.”

Anders’ bolt-hole was another trapdoor, this one leading down into an old-architecture stone hallway that was collapsed inward on one end and led back into darkness at the other. Below the wooden ladder for his trapdoor, there were food and water provisions stocked up enough for weeks.

“I don’t know where the other end goes,” he explained, “I walked for most of a day once and didn’t see a thing, except for other mostly collapsed branches. The chests of food are locked in case some looter finds their way down here, and I check on everything regularly. You can wait it out until whatever danger is gone, or you can take your chances with whatever’s at the end of this.”

Hawke looked around approvingly, lifting up the lid on one of the water barrels. “This is well-prepared. Ice spell into the barrels?”

“Took me way too long to figure that out,” Anders confirmed, nodding. “I wasn’t really used to using magic outside of immediate combat circumstances, or for healing. It still feels weird to be able to use it frivolously.”

“You should practice!” Hawke exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Get you used to that freedom, not always cooped up in that clinic or working on that manifesto and worrying about Templars.”

Anders’ back straightened. “I have a duty to my fellow mages still imprisoned in the Circle, I don’t want to be distracted from that.”

“Yeah, but Anders, I give even my slaves Makersdays off - well, the household staff rotates, but they all get at least one day off a week. You have to have rest days. You do rest, don’t you?”

Anders shifted uncomfortably under Hawke’s stare. Finally he muttered, “As a Grey Warden I need less sleep than other people. And Justice sustains me a lot.”

“Okay, new plan,” Hawke decided, tightening his grip on Anders’ shoulder. “We see these three to the tunnel back to my house, and then you come with Fenris and me to the Hanged Man. There’s a tankard, a chair, and a bad hand of cards with your name on it.”

* * *

Varric raised an eyebrow at Hawke when he arrived at Varric's door with the Mage-Warden hovering nervously behind him.

“What? You never said it was a closed invitation.”

Varric shrugged. “Hey, I don’t have a problem with it. I’ve got a guest, too; everyone, say hello to Isabela. Rivaini, say hello to Hawke, Fenris, and Anders.”

“Oh, my night just got even more fun,” Isabela purred, somehow managing to lounge while sitting on a wooden stool at the table. “Hello, boys. Anders.”

Slowly, a wide grin spread across Hawke’s face. “Varric, who is this incredible woman and where have you been keeping her from me.”

“Bela’s a pirate, new in town since her ship went down at sea. I picked her up fending off some zealous suitors at the bar.”

Isabela pouted. “I was going to have them fight for me, but he had to play the hero. I had it under control, you know.”

“Sure, but I never turn down a chance to get in on a good story,” Varric grinned at her. “That’s how I know Hawke. He’s the most interesting thing to happen to this town since the Qunari washed up.”

“And so much better to look at than some wrinkly gray ox-men,” Isabela hummed. “But two mages outside the Circle? Tell me I’ll be fighting off Templars to get to you.”

“Magister Garrett Hawke,” Hawke said, sweeping close to take her hand and bring it up to his mouth. Over her fingers he said softly, “Varric seems to think that’s not something to begin introductions with, but where’s the fun in living safely?” and then kissed the back of her hand.

“You haven’t changed much, Bela.” Anders said finally, trying to dampen the overtly sexual air between the two of them. Varric looked like he was about to whip out a paper and start taking notes; Fenris had removed himself to his usual lurking corner to watch.

“Anders, always a pleasure,” Isabela smirked at him over Hawke’s shoulder. “How’s the Hero?”

“Left her at Amaranthine, but last I saw she was doing well. Wishing she’d died killing the Archdemon to get away from the Banns, but otherwise fine.”

Isabela sighed. “But what a loss to the world that would be. She has such a fine pair of - ”

“You two know the Hero of Ferelden?” Varric broke in.

“Grey Warden,” Anders said, jabbing a thumb toward his own chest. Then, pointing rather accusingly at Isabela, “And I think she met her in Denerim and taught her how to kill people better or something.”

“In between other things,” Isabela said with another wink. “She’s quite skilled.”

Anders covered his eyes with a hand. “Please, that’s my commander you’re talking about and I really don’t need to think about it.”

“What - you never…?”

“No! She has that elf, uh… what’s his name….”

“Zevran,” Isabela said, rolling the name out slowly and with relish.

“No! I mean, yes, that’s his name, but please no. I don’t… need to know anything.”

“You can tell me,” Hawke volunteered, taking the seat next to Isabela. “Who’s up for strip Grace?”

“Well this was fun,” Anders said quickly, getting right back up from his chair.

“Sit down, Blondie, no one’s getting naked in my rooms. Hawke, please don’t get naked in my rooms.”

“And what’s the story with you, beautiful?” Isabela leaned around Hawke to adress Fenris, who was in the middle of rearranging his hand to his liking.

“Fenris came with me from the Imperium,” Hawke answered for him.

Fenris looked at her appreciatively, offering a smirk of his own. Then his attention was diverted. “Master, please don’t. I will cheat for you, or you can play off my hands, just please don’t try to use magic to do it again.”

“I could do it,” Hawke muttered sullenly, the magic in his fingers dying out. “I’ve been practicing at home, you know.”

“Yes, I saw the scorch marks.”

Isabela had gone quiet, her gaze flicking from tracing Fenris’ tattoos to the gold collar at his throat when he called Hawke ‘master’. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She sat back fully on her stool and picked up the cards Varric had dealt her, making an appreciative noise at them.

The cards went around, followed swiftly by the ale. Hawke, confused, eventually realized that Isabela’s demeanor had changed; from warm flirting to colder and more aggressive flirting. He was still interested but - well, maybe she got like that when she drank. Some people changed personalities entirely.

Finally Anders begged out of a hand, “I have to open the clinic tomorrow still, I can’t stay up any later.”

“You want someone with you through Darktown?” Hawke asked, leaning over the table to stare closely at the other man.

Anders was flushed, although he hadn’t been drinking. “No, thank you Hawke. I’ve still got my magic, it’ll take more than a couple of starving dogs to take me down.”

“Hey, there’re no starving dogs in my town,” Varric chimed in, mock-offended. “All the starving people have eaten them.”

Anders rolled his eyes. “Lovely.”

“We should go too,” Hawke decided, peering out Varric’s window. “Isabela, may I walk you home?”

“Love to, darling, but I’ve got rooms here.” She put on a pout, but there was some kind of reservation in it. A light that wasn’t there behind her eyes.

Hawke didn’t let it stop him. He smiled and said in a low voice, “Sorry, I wasn’t clear enough. May I walk you to _my_ home?”

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” Isabela replied, offering her hand for Hawke to take.

Fenris trailed a few steps behind the couple as they walked, keeping sharp eyes on the alleys and side streets. It was late, but the gangs were slowly learning not to go after Hawke - carrying a distinctive staff and wearing robes was very helpful there, making him easier to identify.

He rolled his eyes when he paid enough attention to their conversation to realize that somehow the topic had turned to Tevinter bathhouses - and the lack thereof in Kirkwall. Hawke could complain for hours about the unwashed masses in the south. Fenris sped up for a few steps and managed to kick Hawke lightly on the ankle, hopefully without Isabela noticing.

Hawke glanced back, one brow quirked up in a question. Fenris gave him a pointed look. He grinned in return and switched to talking about the art they’d seen passing through Nevarra on the way south.

Hawke kissed her in the foyer, tilting her head up with one gentle finger under her chin. Isabela’s eyes went half-lidded and even more sultry, a lascivious smile making itself known. In a throaty voice she said, “I hope you don’t plan to do everything that carefully tonight.”

“Just to get started,” Hawke promised. “Do you want just me or are you alright with Fenris joining us, too?”

Fenris held his breath, hoping. She’d seemed interested back in the Hanged Man, and the last time he’d been with a woman was Orana right before they have to leave the Imperium.

“The more the merrier, I always say,” Isabela said with a laugh. “Now, where’s your bed? I hope it’s big, I tend to be… very active.”

* * *

Fenris was up earlier than both of them, as was his usual. He diverted Arianni in the hall with breakfast, which was big enough for three; apparently she’d heard them come in last night.

“I hope we did not disturb your rest,” Fenris offered awkwardly. If this was Tevinter, Hawke’s servants would all be very used to this sort of thing, but he was aware that Arianni might not like it, especially when it was happening in the same house as her son.

She offered kindly, “We slept well, Fenris, don’t worry over it.”

He took the breakfast tray to the sitting room right outside Hawke’s door, setting it on a side table. He was just pouring the fruit juice - Arianni had taken well to Hawke’s habits - when the door opened again and Isabela slipped out with the easy silence of a rogue.

“Ah, Fenris!” Her voice was soft, in deference to Hawke still sleeping. “I’d hoped to get a chance to talk to you.”

Fenris let his surprise show on his face. “Do you need something?” He wouldn’t mind walking her back to the Hanged Man, as early as it still was.

“I used to - well, I used to be married.” Her tone was subdued but intent, her eyes not leaving his face. “My mother essentially sold me to him. He was a Raider - a pirate - and not a very nice man. He was eventually killed by a very skilled Crow, whom I thanked properly, and left me with a crew and a big ship.”

Fenris just looked at her, wondering why he was getting the life-story treatment. Sometimes people felt they could speak to a slave more easily than a freeman, but she didn’t seem the type.

She watched his expression of polite interest and seemed to be frustrated. “So what I’m saying is that I know what it’s like, and sometimes you just need a little help to get the ball rolling. If you want to get away from - ”

Fenris didn’t hear the rest of what she said. Cold terror had gripped his stomach, blood rushing through his ears, lit the lyrium in his skin to a near-blinding white. He bolted for the door to Hawke’s bedroom, wrenched it open, and nearly flew across the room to the bed.

He ripped through the sheets, every sense strained for the sight or smell of fresh blood, but there was none. Hawke’s body was still warm, and Fenris had just enough time to register that before his master’s eyes opened with a jerk and a bleary, “Fenris? What?”

Fenris rounded on Isabela, who had followed him to the doorway. “I didn’t - ” was all she managed to say before he’d bore her to the ground, hand crushing her throat. Ripping her heart out would be too fast.

“Fenris! What are you doing?”

Isabela had a dagger in one hand, moving to plunge it into Fenris’ side just under his arm. Fenris was fully prepared to let it land so that he could continue squeezing the life from her, but Hawke was at his side and kicking the blade out of her grip. He was also grabbing Fenris by his collar and pulling back on it.

Fenris flinched away from the woman, following Hawke’s pull back up to his feet. He bowed his head, still glaring furiously at Isabela, and murmured, “I am sorry for not responding, master. Isabela spoke to me and implied that she had killed you in order to - to steal me, or free me, I did not pay attention to that specific. I was… distraught.”

Hawke was silent for a long moment, the only sound Isabela’s hacking breaths as she recovered. Finally, he ran his hand over Fenris’ hair and said softly in Tevene, “All is well, _serve_. You acted in my defense, you did well. Go sit on my bed and I will come back for you when I’m done here.”

“ _Domine_ ,” Fenris said, relieved as he pressed tightly against Hawke for a moment, then went back to the bed and sat on the edge. He went as still as a stone.

“Get up, come with me,” Hawke said to Isabela, back in the trade tongue.

She rolled to her feet easily, retrieving the dagger and shoving it into her belt. She followed him out into the sitting room, where the scent of strawberry pastries was permeating the air.

“What happened?” he asked her, sitting down in one of the armchairs and motioning for her to take the other.

“Not that.” She snapped. “I'll admit I did offer to help him gain his freedom if he wanted to, and I told him - a personal story, which ended in my husband's death, and which he took to mean I'd killed you in your sleep."

"By the fucking Void, will you people please stop offering to free him?" Hawke blew out a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair. "He never takes it well, although this is the first time he responded with instant assault. Wait - did you sleep with me just for that?"

"Well." Isabela shifted, trying to regain some sort of allure. "That wasn't the _only_ reason. And I did have fun."

Hawke snapped his fingers. "That's why you started acting different. Basically as soon as you figured out that he's a slave. That does not make me feel good, Isabela."

"Look, I've been in a situation like his... or like I thought his was. I needed help to get out of it, and I just volunteered the same help for him. I should have realized - slavery is illegal in the south, all he needs to do to get away from you is leave." She finished bitterly and added, "Not like he was on a ship in the middle of the sea, right? Why would you even risk having a slave, and so blatantly? He's wearing a collar with your name on it for the Maker's sake!"

"I _tried_ to get him to take it off," Hawke said tightly, "We had a nice conversation about it a couple days before we left, all very calm and reasonable - eventually - and then we went to bed and I found him in the middle of the night crouched in front of the fire, holding his collar over the heat with the tongs. He was going to brand the pendant into his arm. Letting him keep it on seemed like a safe compromise."

Isabela went pale. "That's... sick. Why would anyone...?"

"His previous owner was not a nice man. Fucked with his head on the regular. I have no idea how to fix it, if it can be fixed - sometimes I think I'm making it worse somehow. But that's not your problem, and I'd very much appreciate you not repeating any of it." By his tone, he really meant _If that gets around I know who to set on fire_.

"Noted. Don't try to take Fenris away from his master. I think I misjudged you, Hawke; I hope this hasn't ruined us from becoming friends."

Hawke smiled at her, a little tiredly. He finally noticed the pastries on the side table and went over, picking a few up. He offered one to Isabela. "You meant well. I can forgive you, although Fenris might be a little frosty for a while. I'll see you at Wicked Grace again?"

Isabela took the food, biting into it and licking the strawberry filling off her lip. She winked. "Wouldn't dream of missing it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are pieces of this I'm not too sure about, but... whatever. Isabela's scenes already ran super long, this almost became two chapters if I could have found a good breaking point. I am sorry for skipping the threesome sex scene, I just wasn't feelin' it. If I could outsource sex scenes, I so would tbh.


	11. the author is tired of making chapter titles

Hawke waited until Isabela’s footsteps had vanished down the hall and then turned back to his bedroom. Opening the door, he saw that Fenris had not moved from his statue-like position on the bed.

He approached slowly, setting his free hand on the back of Fenris’ neck and doing a quick check there to make sure he hadn’t bruised or choked the elf pulling on the collar. Satisfied, he held the raspberry pastry in front of Fenris’ face and set it in his hands.

Fenris stared down at it, unmoving and silent.

Hawke sat on the bed next to him and reeled him in to tuck Fenris’ head under his chin.

“You’re not in trouble,” Hawke repeated.

“I acted without thinking, you have told me to consider my actions more,” Fenris mumbled towards his hands. “You should punish me.”

“I am not Danarius, I won’t have you coming up with your own punishments and adding my own if they aren’t good enough.”

“Please, master,” Fenris begged, “You are far too kind to me. I will not learn if you don’t, I only learn when I’m hurting, he knew that. I’ve been trouble for you since we arrived here.”

Hawke paused, thinking for a moment. He'd heard this from Fenris before, although not usually in the last few years.

"You only want me to hurt you when you're not sure what's real," Hawke remembered. "Does any part of you still think this is one of Danarius' dreams?"

Fenris shook his head quickly, but still wouldn’t look at Hawke. “No, I cannot - it has been too long and too much, he would never… he made me live many pleasant dreams but never for this long. And I never saw him die in one of them.”

Hawke hummed, his throat vibrating against Fenris’ scalp. “That sounds very rational, but it doesn’t tell me that you believe this is reality.”

“I believe it,” Fenris croaked. “I do. He could never make someone like you. But….”

Hawke kissed the top of his head and whispered to him, “Someday you’re going to look back and realize that this fear is gone. Until then, I will keep telling you what’s real. No one is taking you away from me; not Danarius, not some misguided southern savage, not even the Maker himself.”

Fenris shuddered in his arms. Hawke pulled them both backwards to lay down on the bed and rolled over so he could press Fenris into the mattress with the weight of his body. His hand flattened out on the lyrium lines on his chest and he opened that connection without drawing on it, letting the power flow back and forth between them like a tide.

* * *

Hubert seemed to believe that Hawke would be a silent partner in the mine's operation now that he'd secured raises for the workers, and also that Hawke was some sort of idiot. The first set of finances he'd couriered to the estate had been glaringly doctored to edit the amount Hawke was receiving.

Hawke and Fenris returned from visiting Hubert and fixing this problem - with the subtle kind of threats that let him know they knew, while still allowing everyone to pretend nothing untoward was happening - to find a paper on Hawke's writing desk and Arianni waiting to direct them to it.

"It's from a Templar named Ser Thrask," she told them, trailing along behind. "He didn't come himself, of course, he sent a messenger. One of the children who're always hanging around for runner-work. Since the girl said it came from a Templar I read it, Messere, I hope you don't mind. I was worried that it might be something else."

Hawke waved a hand in dismissal. "It's fine, Arianni. Don't make it a habit, but Templar mail is probably okay for you to snoop in. If you need to run, though, the warning likely isn't going to come in a letter."

Arianni nodded and left them. Fenris moved in to look over Hawke's shoulder. "What's it about?"

"He heard about my 'response' to Meredith's request. He says he has some Circle business that the Templars aren't going to be able to handle well, and wants us to come help him settle it. Wants us to meet him outside Kirkwall tomorrow morning."

"Trap?" Fenris suggested. "No, wait, there's no reason for even this much warning. We could bring a full mercenary company with us by tomorrow. They'd be better off invading the house."

"That's kind of what I was thinking," Hawke lied, who had just really had a gut feeling about it. Fenris gave him a look that said he knew. "So we should go see what this Templar needs."

Fenris shrugged. "Why bother? His problems aren't yours."

"No, but it's definitely worth it to gather some contacts and sympathies within the Order. If nothing else, Meredith would need to gather a lot of Templars to bring us down, and having someone there to send a warning ahead would make a difference. Do we have anything planned for tomorrow morning?"

"Just need to give Anders an update on how Karl's doing. We should take him with us anyway, in case it really is some kind of trouble."

Hawke's expression brightened. "We'll ask Varric along, too."

Fenris rolled his eyes and muttered, "Dwarf obsession."

* * *

Ser Thrask was behind them, waiting outside Runaway's Cavern. Hawke turned to Fenris and said, "This should be pretty simple," just as the floor bulged with rising undead and several apostates ducked out of hiding to attack them.

"You know I hate when you say things like that, master!" Fenris called back to him, going to deal with the undead.

Hawke ordered, "Varric, Anders, get the corpses!" and picked out the three mages from the throng of bodies, targeting each one with a horror spell that had them on the ground and screaming.

With no mages animating more of the undead, they fell quickly and left the gibbering men and one woman to deal with. Hawke watched them dispassionately for a moment, until Anders shifted and coughed uncomfortably - barely audible over the noise they were making - and he ended the spell with a gesture.

The three mages recovered slowly, the woman jumping up first and startling away from them. She reached as if for a spell, and Fenris lit up and snarled, "Don't even think about it."

She stopped. "What do you want? You're not Templars, but have you come to take us back to the Circle?"

"I should!" Hawke exclaimed, ignoring Anders' furious look. "That was the most pathetic display of 'magic' I've seen in years. I wouldn't let an apprentice leave the house with that kind of technique. A weak horror spell spread out over three of you, and none could resist it? You need structure and a lot more training."

"We can't all be born in venerable Tevinter," she spat, recognizing his accent. "We learned as best we could in the Circle! You can't learn or teach combat magic until the Templars decide you'll be a good little mage with it."

"And they don't teach shields or barriers there?" Hawke countered. "Never mind, I'm not here to discuss your magical abilities. I'm here because the Templars have found you, and a nicer one wants this matter taken care of before the mean ones arrive. Understand? I'm saving your lives."

"It's no life worth having to be imprisoned in a Circle," she said bitterly, her head dropping. One of her friends, sitting up and watching, started inching towards his dropped staff until Varric stepped out of a flanking position to pointedly kick it away and give the man a disapproving look.

The other man inched closer to the woman and took her hand in his, holding it tightly.

Hawke sighed, looking at their clasped grip. "I never said I _was_ sending you back, just that I should. The Kirkwall Circle is making mages Tranquil even after Harrowing; whatever its original purpose was, it's been lost. Go back out to wait with Ser Thrask, I'll come get you when I'm done with the rest of your group. You will be sent on your way - Anders, are there any good Circles left?"

The man holding the woman's hand blurted, "Ostwick!" and then turned red as attention went to him. He muttered, "Ostwick isn't so bad, I grew up there before they sent me to Starkhaven."

"You could stay outside a Circle," Anders insisted, "You don't need them to live."

"I don't want to have to hide my magic all the time," the man told him. "I have to be in a Circle if I want to use it. I won't live like an apostate, constantly on the run, suspected of blood magic.... I just want to live with Dora. Ostwick is a good place, not like Kirkwall."

The other man broke in, glaring, "I won't go there. I won't be locked up again."

Anders muttered, "I don't understand how anyone would want to be locked up in a Circle," but let it go.

"Good, let's move on. If you three aren't waiting out there with Ser Thrask when I come back, I will hunt you down."

"Wait with a Templar?" Dora asked. "What if he doesn't want to let us go like you do?"

Hawke just looked at her. "Do I look like I let what other people want get in my way?"

The three mages went, gathering up their staves and avoiding eye contact after that. Dora and her man didn't let go of each other.

Further in the cave, after more restless undead, there was another mage who introduced himself as Alain. He helpfully told them about Decimus' inner circle of blood mages, to which Hawke cursed and threw up his hands. "I thought there would be _less_ blood mages outside the Imperium!"

"I never wanted this," Alain insisted, his frightened eyes wide. "I'll go back to the Circle, just please stop them."

Hawke's mouth thinned. "Not Kirkwall's Circle. There's two mages already with a Templar outside who are going to travel to Ostwick's Circle and turn themselves in; you can go with them."

"Thank you, Messere!" Alain bowed and fled, leaving the party to continue on into the blood mages' lair.

"Any tips for dealing with blood magic, Hawke?" Varric muttered. "Or is it just 'give 'em the pointy end until they die'."

"Well, you've got the basics of it down," Hawke mused, letting Fenris go ahead to check around a bend in the cave. "I've got an area-spell version of mortality curse, which means when they start cutting themselves they won't stop bleeding. Normal blood magic, in case you were wondering, only lets the caster bleed as much as the power costs. It takes them a while to bleed out though. But, for you, whichever one I mark with a death hex is the one you want to be shooting. Every bolt will hurt like a kick in the balls with that on."

Varric whistled. "Good to know."

They went too close to a deepstalker den, and had to pause to fight off all ten of the little creatures. Hawke dropped a sleep spell on the area when they were down to a more manageable number of five, and they left the beasts sleeping it off.

"You seem to like the entropy tree," Anders pointed out. "Is... is that your specialization?"

Hawke nodded. "First and best."

"Doesn't it feel dirty when you're casting it? Those spells always had a greasy feeling to me."

Hawke grunted. "Yeah, well, Creation magic makes my teeth tingle when I cast it, and one of my teachers wouldn't cast from arcane if his life depended on it. All mages are put together different. What _are_ they teaching in the southern Circles?"

Anders snorted. "Nothing useful."

"How much of this mage talk do you understand?" Varric asked Fenris in the background.

Fenris considered ignoring the dwarf, as he sometimes did to anyone who wasn't his master, and then remembered Hawke's voice chiding him to interact with other people more. "They are talking about schools of magic."

After a moment he added, "Mages always talk about them like they are unruly or favored children."

Varric snorted. "Humans are weird. I mean, so are dwarves, but... nah, it's just magic I'm thinking of. _Mages_ are weird."

"I've known more mages than not," Fenris offered, "And I still believe you are correct. Non-mages can be strange, and even cruel, but never in the same ways."

"Hey, if you two are done gossiping up there," Hawke called, "I found a door."


	12. history lessons

Through the door was a larger chamber, the end of the cavern, and within it Decimus was waiting with three other blood mages.

"They're working with the Templars!" Decimus announced as soon as he saw Fenris leading the front-line in, and started summoning yet more undead.

"No we're not!" Hawke shouted, just to correct the man, as he cast a mass paralysis on the corpses and followed it up with mortality on the mages as they drew knives. "Anders, any primal or elemental area-spells you have on those undead!"

Anders did him one better, eyes lighting up with an unholy blue glow. "BLOOD MAGIC, BROTHERS? YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE LET THEM DRIVE YOU TO THIS." He cast three fireballs faster than Hawke had ever seen a mage do it before, leaving him with smoking, reddened hands.

Hawke cast the promised death hex on Decimus and called over to Varric, "The yellow glowing one!"

"Yeah, I got that!" Varric yelled back.

Fenris had dodged around the edge of the pack of undead as they crumpled under Anders' assault, and come up to one of the blood mages. He was panicking, wrapping strips torn off his robes around his wrist to staunch the heavy blood flow; he'd cut far too deep to access his blood magic, unaware that his power wasn't going to hold the blood in.

Fenris put the man out of his misery, reaching within his chest and crushing the fear-fluttery heart within. He phased all the way through, letting the man's body drop to the ground through his and land with finality in the dirt, and kept moving to the next mage.

Decimus was not depending on his undead minions to do his work for him. Hawke felt the draining pain of the blood mage's favorite spell, hemorrhage, and cursed softly. Decimus was bleeding profusely from the four bolts already buried in his body, but he was replenishing that vitality just as quickly with the deaths of the undead Anders was slaughtering.

Fenris had come around to the second mage and separated her head from her body, barreling straight through the stone fist she tried to send at him in his lyrium ghost form. Decimus himself killed his last subordinate, gutting him with a vicious slash from behind to release as much blood as he could at once.

"You will not take me back!" Decimus screamed, his eyes wild. He whirled on Fenris who was closest and still closing, and he threw out one blood-covered hand.

Droplets flew from it and landed on the skin of Fenris' face, even standing between worlds as he was. Fenris stopped mid-step, his expression going blank.

"You are mine now," Decimus growled. "Kill your friends."

"Oh, shit," Varric said under his breath as Fenris turned to them with that same blank look and raised his greatsword. "Hawke?"

"IF THE MALEFICAR DIES HIS SPELL IS BROKEN." Anders started casting bolt after bolt at Decimus, who raised a shield but couldn't move behind it.

"Blood mages all have the same stupid tricks," Hawke spat, already moving. He reached for the cord of his necklace and brought up the end of it: a tiny glass phial, filled with something red.

His hand closed around the phial of blood and he cast a dispel through it.

Fenris' expression finally changed, twisting into a mad snarl. He spun on a heel and charged back at Decimus, phasing straight through the shield.

The blood mage didn't have time to protest or even speak before Fenris had his hand in his chest, gripping his beating heart. He pushed the phase through the organ and yanked back, ripping the heart out of the mage's chest in a spray of more blood, and held it up to show it to him as he died.

"Andraste's sacred ass," Varric muttered, his eyes wide. "Remind me not to piss you off, Shiny."

"Come here, Fenris," Hawke ordered. "Uh, no, drop the heart first."

Fenris dropped the heart and came over to stand in front of Hawke. As he got closer, Hawke could see that he was still trembling.

Hawke folded him into a bear-hug, pressing Fenris' face into his shoulder. "Stupid blood mage thought he could take what's mine," he murmured into the Fenris' ear, "But you showed him who you belong to, right?"

"You." Fenris sighed into him, tension leaving his shoulders.

"Right." Hawke kissed the tip of his ear and released him, keeping one arm over his shoulder. "Do you think there are more of them hidden somewhere around here?"

On cue, a woman stepped out of her shroud spell and into visibility. She was facing Hawke and the others, but her eyes seemed magnetically drawn to the body of Decimus on the ground.

"Desi...." she murmured softly, and then bit her lip and turned her attention fully to Hawke. "I apologize for Decimus, serah. He started with good intentions and he went too far."

Hawke eyed her narrowly. "Blood magic always goes too far; that's why the demons offer it. Show me your arms."

She rolled up her sleeves obligingly, turning her wrists over to show unblemished skin. "I never got the taste for blood magic, just being near it made my skin itch. My name is Grace. I used to be together with Decimus when we were both in the Starkhaven Circle, and now... now I suppose I lead those of us who are left."

"And what are you leading them to?" Hawke asked.

"Freedom." Grace's eyes were steel-hardened, glaring at him. "Someplace on the edge of the Marches, unclaimed and uncontested territory where we can live our lives in peace among our own kind. The only thing standing in our way is Ser Thrask and the Templars he will bring down upon us, and so I ask you to kill him for the sake of your fellow mages."

"I'm from the Imperium," Hawke told her. "My fellow mages mean very little to me. I have uses for Thrask, so no, I won't kill him. I will, however, allow you and yours to walk out of here unharmed and go on your way."

"You can guarantee that?" she snapped. "Past the Templars who no doubt wait outside?"

Hawke simply nodded. "I can guarantee that."

"He kind of can," Varric interjected. "I've seen him do a lot of unlikely shit already."

Her anger faltered, and her brows drew down in confusion. "We shall see."

* * *

Outside, Hawke found the four apostates he'd sent on ahead clustered tightly together behind Thrask, who in turn had his arms lifted out to the sides slightly, protectively, shielding them from a freshly arrived group of Templars. The leader of these turned towards Hawke as he emerged from the gloom of the cave.

There was a soft intake of breath behind Hawke and he assumed that Grace had stopped in the shadows of the cave and recast her shroud over herself and her other mages, leaving them near-invisible but unable to move.

"So you've sent the Tevinter blood mage after the apostate blood mages," the Templar leader sneered.

Speaking over him, Thrask said, "Serah Hawke, Ser Karras is here to escort the mages back to the Tower. I will ensure that they arrive safely and are treated well."

Karras' lip curled up. "You are far too gentle with the robe trash, Thrask. Someday very soon that will get you killed."

Hawke put on an interested expression, looking at Karras. "So _you're_ Ser Karras. I've heard about you."

"I'll bet you have," Karras puffed up, tilting his head arrogantly. "People know I don't stand for mages and demons running amok."

"No, that wasn't it...." Hawke trailed off thoughtfully for a moment. "No, it was something about a man named Karl. Ah, you and Ser Alrik weren't very kind to him, were you?"

Karras' face was blank, no recognition. "Karl? Who's that?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Hawke saw blue fire light up under Anders' skin. "Oh, you should definitely have remembered his name."

Hawke knew there would likely be time for only one spell before the smite landed and drained all of his mana, and so he made use of it: casting a powerful sleep onto Thrask. The man crumpled to the ground, barely caught in time by Alain and Dora.

Then the smite hit, and Hawke was cut from the Fade in a way he'd never felt before. It was the metaphysical wind knocked out of him, and nearly had a similar physical effect until he shook it off and turned his staff around, brandishing the sharp blade on the end.

He was adept with a polearm, though magic would always be his first choice of weapon. The Templars were good at their jobs, keeping up with wave after wave of smite while they focused on Fenris and Varric as the real threats while the mages couldn't cast. Hawke made them pay for that assumption, swinging the staff blade towards the unprotected flesh at the backs of their knees and, when he could manage it, up under the arms.

The battle took longer than it had with the blood mages, but finally the smites stopped coming. Hawke dropped the last three Templars with horror spells and dispatched them on the ground, nudging helmets and gorgets out of the way so he could slit throats. Fenris panted and leaned on his sword, still stuck in the gut of one armored body.

"Hey, Hawke," Varric caught his eye and grinned, shouldering Bianca heavily with exhaustion. "I think I got more than you."

Hawke straightened up, offended. "You did not!"

"Yeah, I was counting and I think I got about two more than you did."

Anders had already gone over to the four mages still crouched around Thrask, who was beginning to revive. He sat up, saw the carnage, and looked away.

"Nothing to say?" Hawke asked, leaning on his staff casually.

Thrask smiled at him sadly. "They were not good men, although I don't know that they deserved death. How was I knocked out?"

"One of 'em threw a rock." Varric lied very well. "Maker knows why. Maybe they didn't want you to die either."

Thrask sighed and got to his feet slowly. "I thank you for the help, Serah Hawke. I will take - "

"They aren't going back to your Circle." Hawke overrode him.

Thrask stopped, his mouth half-open. "Pardon?"

"The Kirkwall Circle is dangerous to its mages. I won't send them there. These ones will be going to the Ostwick Circle."

"They cannot go there alone!" Thrask exclaimed, aghast. "They would need an escort of Templars, at the very least!"

Hawke moved close to him, speaking in a low voice that the others could not overhear. "They will go and go alone, unless you can personally guarantee their safety in the Kirkwall Circle among your brothers. Can you do that, Ser Thrask? If you promise it, I will entrust them to you. And if you fail, I promise you will be hounded by horrors and nightmares, you will have no rest until the Void takes back your soul. I don't care much for men who go back on their word."

"I cannot protect them," Thrask managed, leaning away from Hawke. "But... will they be safe traveling alone? Have any of them ever been outside of a tower before?"

Hawke pulled back and laughed. "Oh, he's worried about you!" he said to Dora and the others. "If they've made it this far from Starkhaven, they can make it the rest of the way. Use your good sense. Don't disappoint me."

He finished with a look that said his disappointment would be very painful for them.

The four apostates fled at the slightest gesture from Hawke, looking back nervously over their shoulders at Hawke and Thrask.

Thrask sighed, looking around at the bodies again. "This isn't what I had planned, but... it might be for the best."

"Things rarely go according to my plans, too," Hawke told him consolingly. "Now get along, and I'll fix this up to look like they were robbed by bandits or some such thing. Yes, Varric, that means we get to loot the bodies."

"Hey, I'm always up for murder and looting."

Thrask left, a lonely figure clanking his way down the path back towards Kirkwall.

Loudly, Hawke said, "You can come out of hiding now, Grace."

Grace dropped her shroud. Hawke saw other pale faces behind her, peering out of the cave fearfully, but ignored them. "You got what you wanted; you're free to go. Don't fuck this up."

"Would Tevinter be better?" she asked, staring at the dead Templars. "We would not be hunted there, would we?"

Hawke snorted. "Tevinter is lousy with mages. I love my homeland and what it did for me, but not everyone gets a success story. Try to make your own path, first, and if that doesn't work you can fall back on being one of the weakest mages in the Imperium."

An angry fire lit in Grace's eyes, and she turned away without another word, gathering her people and their supplies.

Hawke beckoned for the others to fall in. "Let's go home."

* * *

“You were cruel to Grace,” Anders said over drinks in the Hanged Man after. He held his tankard in front of himself defensively, tucked into one of the chairs that faced the door. 

Hawke shrugged. “She needed a kick. I wasn’t lying about the Imperium; she wouldn’t have a good time there, especially if she refused to use blood magic. I can do that, because I’ve got the power and training to back it up, but most cannot.”

“I guess I thought Tevinter was the ideal,” Anders muttered, putting down his tankard to stare into it and spin it slowly by the handle. “When I was in the Kinloch Circle, I used to dream about escaping to Tevinter and being free. I’d send a letter to my mother and invite her to come live with me.”

“To the dreams we had as children,” Hawke said with irony, raising his own ale. “Misguided as they may have been.”

“What dreams did a mage kid have in Tevinter?” Varric asked, not liking the dark tone that seemed to be developing. “Did you want to be a Magister when you grew up?”

Hawke gave a startled laugh. “Maker, no! I hated magisters, actually. My father taught it to me and I never questioned it. I grew up in Seheron, a land ripped apart like a bone between two dogs: the Imperium and the Qunari. The Imperium had reclaimed Alam and the lands around it from the Qunari, but there were still a lot of converts living there not very happy about being ‘liberated’, and some more people who were happy with it. The Qunari pushed back enough to hold Seheron itself, but they lost a lot of their foothold when the Imperium barged in and offered people an alternative to ‘convert or die’.”

He took a long drink from his ale, swallowing fast so he didn’t have to taste it. “And then the Ben-Hassrath, the Qunari spies, started trying to run things from behind the scenes, so the Imperium went around destabilizing infrastructure by assassinating every person who held an ounce of power, and their successors, and theirs, until no one wanted to step up and do the jobs that needed doing.

“And in the middle of all that were the natives, the poorest people in Seheron, driven out of their homes by the Imperium or forced to convert and live whatever life the Qun declared was right for them. No good choices."

The table was silent for a long moment as Varric and Anders looked at each other to decide who should talk first; Hawke didn't notice, staring down moodily into his ale. Fenris dragged his chair closer to Hawke's and pressed their shoulders together.

"So then how'd you wind up a magister if you hated them?" Anders finally asked.

"Killed Fenris' former master." Hawke drained the last of his tankard. "No, wait, that needs some more explaining I suppose. After my father died, I went traveling all around the Imperium. Wanted to get to know the place that had taken my family in. Wanted to get away from all the shit he left behind in Seheron. Wound up apprenticed to this old man, Magister Aureus, which introduced me into the Magisterium and the upper ranks of society - the Alti, though I was still but a lowly Laetan - and gave me some standing with them.

"That was enough that Danarius could challenge me for some books and an amulet he wanted, and I couldn't say no. I could, however, make him bet his entire life. So when I killed him, I won Fenris and every coin and square foot of land he owned. I also won his seat in the Magisterium, which wouldn't have been allowed if I hadn't completed an apprenticeship with another magister."

Hawke looked up from his cup finally, to signal to Corff for another. His gaze caught on what Varric was doing.

"Are you _taking_ _notes_?"

Varric guiltily whisked the papers off the table and into his lap out of view. "No."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all get a double upload today because my dumb ass doesn't know when to end a scene, so I accidentally did 5k words for a chapter and realized it would be best to split it in half. More smut coming up in the next chapter, probably, hopefully. I know a lot of people read slave fics for that sweet sweet kink (god knows thats what I click for) but I wrote myself into a characterization corner where that will literally never happen so.... sorry to anyone who was looking for the typical slavery fic.


	13. second chances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut and some plot!

Hawke cut them out of after-party drinks early, citing exhaustion. But as he and Fenris walked through Hightown, he didn't seem tired; he just kept looking over at Fenris.

"Is there something wrong, master?" Fenris asked, narrowing his eyes at a dark alley as they passed it. If there was anyone within, they decided not to bother with the elf and the mage.

"No, nothing wrong," Hawke hummed, smiling a little as he put his arm around Fenris and leaned into him. In his ear, he murmured, "Just thinking about what we're going to do when we get home."

A thrill went down Fenris' spine and circled around his stomach. Pretending not to understand he suggested, "Sleep? You did say you were tired."

"Eventually, sure. Probably. Or I might keep us up all night; you know what a good fight does to me."

Fenris picked up his pace subtly as the estate's door came into view. He wasn't going to make it if Hawke kept breathing against his ear like that.

"Someone's eager," Hawke laughed.

"Very tired," Fenris assured him. "Let's get to bed, master."

Fenris opened the door and stepped aside for Hawke to enter. He turned back to the street outside automatically, checking for threats, and found none. Hawke's fingers were already sliding between the metal of his armor, picking at the buckles to strip it off him.

Satisfied that there was nothing wrong with the street, Fenris closed the door and locked it for the night, pulling the heavy bolt across as the spiked pauldrons of his armor clattered to the floor. He turned around finally, only to be pressed back against the door and kissed soundly.

His arms went up around Hawke's neck, one shoulder dipping briefly to shrug off the last attachment of his breastplate and letting it fall.

There was, however, no loud clang that followed. Hawke winced, accidentally biting Fenris' lip a little too hard. "That was my foot," came his pained mutter.

Fenris broke the kiss to duck his head and laugh into Hawke's chest for a second, peering down at where one of Hawke's feet was pulled back behind the other protectively. He tongued the abrasion on his lip, tasting no blood. "Maybe we should move to the actual bedroom and get undressed properly."

"Such a good bodyguard," Hawke sighed, "Protecting me from apostate blood mages and sexual injuries alike."

The candles were lit as they went, Arianni's presence in the house more felt than seen, no more darkened halls and beds without sheets. Even in Hawke's bedroom, there were candles lit on the tables on either side of the bed, and the armor stand was waiting empty for Fenris' armor.

He flicked open the buckles on his clawed gauntlets and flexed his hands a few times, squirming his fingers down far enough that he could slide them off. After that it was peeling out of the tight leggings and undershirt, and then he turned around and found Hawke already sprawled out naked on the bed, arms behind his head and enjoying the show if his erection was anything to go by.

"How do you want me, master?" Fenris rumbled, his eyes half-lidded as he climbed straight over the footboard onto the bed.

Hawke made a rough, thoughtful noise, and as Fenris worked his way up over Hawke's body he flipped them, pinning the elf to the mattress with his weight. "Here's good."

Hawke leaned over him to retrieve the bottle of oil still up by the pillows. Fenris spread his knees apart, but Hawke didn't adjust his positioning to get between them; just stayed straddling Fenris' hips, right over Fenris' own obvious interest.

Fenris' eyes went wide, an even greater excitement starting to creep up on him. "Master, are you...?"

"Mhm," Hawke said, concentrating more on spilling the oil onto his fingers and reaching behind himself than on responding.

"Please, please, let me..." Fenris begged breathlessly, reaching for the bottle still in Hawke's hand.

Hawke smiled benevolently down at him and tipped the oil onto his fingers. "Go ahead."

Fenris slid lower for the angle, his clean hand bracing against one cheek while the other went unerringly for Hawke's hole. Hawke's fingers got out of the way as Fenris' moved in, circling first and then pushing one in. 

It felt like barely a moment later Hawke was demanding, "More," in an equally breathless tone, his thighs flexing beautifully around Fenris.

Another finger. Fenris stretched them apart, reveling in the feeling, remembering what this was going to feel like around his cock. Hawke didn't want this often and every time felt like a blessing.

"That's enough," Hawke said, pushing on Fenris' shoulders to get him to move up again. Fenris scrambled against the sheets, unable to stop smiling like an idiot as their groins lined up again and Hawke took him in hand.

Hawke sank down slowly, groaning, his head tipped forward and his eyes closed. All the air left Fenris' lungs and wouldn't come back, it was so tight and hot and slick. He whined desperately as Hawke fully seated himself and then _didn't move_.

Hawke laughed at him. "You can wait a second," he admonished, leaning down to tweak one tapered ear. That pulled ever so slightly on his cock, and Fenris whined again pointedly.

"Shh," Hawke's hand dropped from Fenris' ear to his mouth, tracing his lips for a moment, and then further down to thumb one of his nipples. "Good and slow," he crooned, "I'm going to enjoy you."

And he finally moved, but it was as slow as promised, a torturous draw up and back down at Hawke's own pace. Fenris held onto his thighs with white knuckles and tried to endure, meeting every downward flex with his own hard thrust up.

"Master, please," Fenris begged.

Hawke just grinned down at him, the picture of Tevinter hedonism and control. His tone almost reached conversational as he replied, "Yes, Fenris?"

Fenris reached the end of his rope. There was one thing guaranteed to leave Hawke wanting more and faster; he lit up the lyrium in his skin.

"Oh, you little..." Hawke wheezed, his breath coming shorter. He pulled off completely - Fenris made a startled sound as the lyrium went dark, apologies on the tip of his tongue, he'd done something wrong - and Hawke grabbed him around the waist and rolled them again.

Fenris blinked and he was looking down at Hawke, between his legs. Hawke lifted an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

After that moment's hesitation Fenris was back on board, lining himself up again and thrusting in at a satisfying pace. Hawke groaned under him, "The lyrium."

Fenris lit up again and started moving, going slow at first, worried about hurting him.

Hawke reached up, wrapping one hand around the back of Fenris' head to pull him down and growl into his ear, "If you don't pick up the fucking pace, I'm getting back on top."

Fenris sucked a fold of skin on Hawke's throat into his mouth, drawing blood to the surface in a dark bruise. His hips shoved in roughly now, desperate in their speed, and he eventually had to let go of the mark he was sucking on just to pant enough air into his lungs.

Hawke came first, Fenris and his hands joined over his cock, and the tight heat around Fenris became almost unbearable as it pulled him right along with it, spilling into Hawke. He pulled out and just laid there for a moment, floating on a pleasant cloud reality couldn't touch.

Hawke tugged him up eventually, setting Fenris' body over his own so that he could pet down his back leisurely. He pressed a kiss into white hair. "You did very well today, especially with those blood mages."

"I hate blood magic," Fenris mumbled tiredly.

Hawke smiled, his mouth still pressed against the top of Fenris' head. "You don't have to worry about it anymore."

* * *

Arianni let Sebastian into the sitting room, announcing him with "Sebastian Vael, messere," and excusing herself to finish dinner preparations.

Sebastian stopped just inside the doorway, his surprise obvious. Hawke was reading his letters by mage-light in his favorite armchair, an orb hovering over his shoulder and emitting a soft yellow glow, and Fenris had decided to forgo a chair completely, sitting cross-legged at Hawke's feet and reading a book.

"Serah Vael, glad you could join us!" Hawke said, folding the letter and placing it on the small table beside his chair. Fenris was already on his feet, book snapped shut on top of the letter, and reaching for the tea set that had been laying mostly forgotten on the same table.

He poured fresh cups for both, handing Sebastian his as he came over to the armchair next to Hawke's.

"I was equally glad to received your invitation. I need to thank you for coming to the Chantry when you did; your actions saved me from a dark place, made me realize that I couldn't go on like that." He frowned down at the room-temperature cup as he sat, but was too polite to mention that the tea was cold.

"Touch the rune on the side, it'll heat it right back up," Hawke told him, noticing the look. "Magic is wonderful, isn't it? So many mundane uses - it's a shame you lock your mages up down here. But, of course, I can't stand to see a man wallowing in his grief. Action is necessary, even when you aren't quite sure what to do with it. Help someone! Someone always needs help."

"And I thank you for yours," Sebastian nodded at him, grateful. "But I do have to wonder how a Tevinter mage - magister? - came to be in Kirkwall. Outside the Gallows, no less."

Hawke waved a hand, dismissing the slight tone of suspicion. "You ought to know it better than I, Chantry law says that each mage must belong to and be accountable to a Circle. I belong to the one in Minrathous, as does every magister; I'm down here doing research and seeking new investment opportunities, and as long as I publish something every once in a while and send my votes _in absentia_ nobody back home gives a whit where I'm at."

"Why Kirkwall, though?" Sebastian pressed, looking adorably confused, Hawke thought.

"My mother was from here. Supposedly, I still have family here, although from what I've heard Uncle Gamlen isn't worth tracking down."

Sebastian's eyes fell, staring down into his freshly warmed teacup. Softly he said, "I can understand wanting to reconnect with one's history, I suppose. I wish.... I hadn't seen my family in a long time, and then they were killed. I wish I'd gone to see them."

"Stay for dinner," Hawke invited, "Tell me about them. Talking helps, I've found."

Sebastian smiled. "I am sorry that I can't; I must return to the Chantry for the evening services. I simply wanted to thank you, and also to tell you about Sister Petrice, who is also offering money for a task although I know not what it is...."

* * *

Hawke let out a deep breath as he watched the saarebas burn, his expression utterly impassive. He had wondered from the beginning, and here was all that he expected come to fruition.

"Why?" Anders demanded, sounding very lost, "Why would he...? He was free!"

Fenris, the only one who might have been able to explain it, glanced over at him with something like pity and didn't say a word. Anders would likely not hear it anyway.

"It's the Qun," Hawke answered instead. "It is more different than most can understand. What it demands of its followers when they are true believers...." He trailed off, unable to find the words. "If you were to call the Qun their god, it is not a kind or merciful one, and it does not care for the individual's happiness or life. He was following what he knew, which was to die before falling to the demons."

"He could have resisted!" Anders snapped. "Mages resist demons all the time!"

"He didn't believe that he could do it; they would have taken him in time. His power to resist was in the trust that someone else would be there to protect him, the arvaarad."

Anders kicked sand over the body angrily, dampening the flames for a moment. "He didn't even try," he muttered.

"Well, that's a shit end to a shit job," Isabela said, finished with looting the bodies and coming over to stand next to Hawke. "So this was clearly a set-up, yes?"

Hawke nodded. "Sister Petrice has some things to answer for."

Petrice and her escort were packing up their little safehouse quickly, trying to cut and run.

"Leaving without paying your bill?" Hawke 'tsk'ed, shaking his head. "Sister, you know that's a sin."

"Magister Hawke! You're... alive." Petrice did not look happy about this.

"Despite all your efforts to the contrary, I'm sure. What's the game, Sister? Who put you up to it, and why?"

"Nobody put me up to it," she snapped, "But someone has to do something about the Qunari poisoning this city. They sit like a tumor in their district, spreading their cancerous Qun among the poor and uneducated. They must be stopped, the city turned against them! Any deaths for the sake of that cause are worth it."

Hawke's mouth was a thin line as he watched her thoughtfully for a moment, his arms folding. She was filled with a righteous anger, her fists clenched at her sides.

"You are correct," he agreed, to her obvious surprise, "But this was not the way to go about it. I'm also looking into the Qunari problem, as you would have known if you'd told me about your intentions in the beginning. I mean come on, I'm from the Imperium - we are at war with the Qunari! Surely you know that even in the south?"

“I knew, but you haven’t said a word against the Qunari - and I know you have the Viscount’s ear.”

“He listens to what I have to say about the Qunari because he knows I have experience with them, certainly not on any other topic. He wants my money coming into his city, nothing else. If I can come to him with a solution to the Qunari problem - one that does not lead to lost lives - I’m sure he’d listen. But first I need to have that plan, and your kind skulking around in the shadows would do nothing but hinder me.”

“What do you propose to do, then?” Petrice spread her hands like she was laying cards on a table. “Since our goals are the same, for now, I would work with you.”

“There are too many for a direct confrontation, I know that much. Kirkwall isn’t set up to mobilize a large enough force to contain them in the short amount of time it would take them to get their own attack going. Provoked in a situation like this, isolated within the enemy, they would lead a targeted strike force straight to whoever’s in charge, as I’ve told Dumar.”

Hawke was lying about that, but he relied on Petrice not checking in with Dumar. Her words implied she didn’t have the influence for a direct audience.

“Which means that we have to gather information first. You’re in a good position to do that; ask your flock and listen to their grievances, figure out what the Qunari are searching for in this city. Because I guarantee you, they are not here to recruit. They want something. If we can give it to them, or convince them that it’s gone, they will leave.”

Petrice nodded along. “I can do that for you, Magister. We’ll do things your way for now. But if I don’t see results, I will do what is necessary.”

Hawke smiled at her, not in a nice way. “I can see how you think that’s agreeable enough, but I should also warn you, Sister: if you cross me again, you will die. Horribly, in agony and screaming nightmares. This is your second and last chance, and most don’t get even that much from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that I've done a lot of Qun-bashing. I don't really know how many people actually like the Qun (or the idea of the Qun, w/e) but while it sounds fine in theory (especially when the Iron Bull is telling you all about it) in practice it probably falls short. Especially the 'convert' part. I like some parts of what it tries to say, like how every person is a small part of a larger creature and all must be working together etc, but other bits not so much, like no names, family groups, jobs are chosen for you by the Tamassrans who raise you, and so on. Just some personal feelings on a fictional religion! Which I've put way too much thought into! Bye-bye!


	14. loss of control

“Please, you have to help me…” The young woman pleaded, matching pace for a few steps with a man walking into the Chantry. When he didn’t look at her, didn’t even acknowledge her existence, she made a small noise and stopped helplessly, looking around again for someone else to ask.

Hawke watched from across the courtyard, leaning against a wall with his arms folded. Fenris stood next to him, watching everyone else in the vicinity.

The woman bothered three more people leaving and entering the Chantry, and each time was ignored or dismissed. She wasn’t dressed well, her clothing old and worn, and between that and her eyes red from crying she looked somewhat like a beggar.

“What do you think she needs help with?” Fenris murmured, eyes flicking quickly toward her.

Hawke hummed and said, “Family.” At Fenris’ questioning tilt of the head, he added, “Look at her; she doesn’t have anything else.”

He pushed away from the wall and approached, Fenris trailing along barely a half-step behind. If she turned out to be dangerous, he was ready.

“What do you need help with?”

The girl turned so fast she nearly lost her balance, stumbling slightly. “Please, messere,” she mumbled, even more desperate. “It’s my brother Keran. He’s gone missing.”

“Come over here,” Hawke nodded toward some public benches, “Let’s sit down and you tell me your name and why you’re asking for help in front of the Chantry instead of going to the city guard.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears as she walked hunched-over to the benches and nearly collapsed onto one. “My name is Macha, and the guard - they can’t help. He’s a Templar recruit, and he always comes to visit on Marketdays or sends a message when he can’t, but he didn’t this past one. I tried going to the Templars but they won’t tell me anything, and I tried the guard but they won’t interfere, and when I went into the Chantry a Sister had me taken back out for - ” she hiccuped and sobbed at the end of it, then got her voice back under control - “For causing a disturbance. I thought maybe, the Chantry controls the Templars, maybe someone in there can help me, but….”

“What’s your brother’s name? I have a contact in the Templars, I can ask about him.”

“This is what you want to spend Thrask’s good will on?” Fenris muttered uncharitably. Hawke reached over without looking and pinched his thigh.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Macha sobbed again, clutching Hawke’s arm and leaning into it. “Oh, thank you messere, thank you so much. Please, he’s all I have, I just need to make sure he’s okay.”

Hawke sent a street-kid running with the message right there from the Chantry steps, flipping a full silver piece into his hands. “Get back with a reply before the next bell and there’s a sovereign for you,” flashing the gold coin between two fingers.

The boy’s eyes went wide and he sprinted away, faster than Fenris had seen even thieves run.

Thrask’s reply did cost them a sovereign, because the boy brought it as the bell rang and Hawke was nothing if not generous to children. He stood panting and relayed, “Ser Thrask says to you that Keran and some of the other recruits disappeared for most of a day but at least one of them, Wilmod, came back safely. Wilmod might know more, he took a two-day leave to camp on the Wounded Coast and clear his head.”

Hawke went fishing in his belt-pouch, aware that the boy was watching the gold coin with a kind of hungry disappointment; he wasn’t expecting Hawke to live up to it. Instead, Hawke poured ten silver sovereigns, each worth a tenth of a gold coin, into his cupped hands and said, “Much less obvious if you’ve got silver instead of gold, kid. Don’t let them clink on the way home, and if your parents tend to drink the money keep some back for your brothers and sisters.”

“Are you a mage?” Macha asked as the boy scampered away, tucking the coins each into their own hiding places on his person so that the clinking didn’t attract thieves. She was looking at the staff on Hawke’s back.

“Oh, I’m being rude again. I always forget to introduce myself down here; I’m Magister Garrett Hawke of the Minrathous Circle. Now, Macha, I’m going to walk you back home and we’ll see about getting together a search party for the Wounded Coast.”

* * *

Hawke went for Aveline because, despite what Macha said, he was fairly certain this was something for the guard to take an interest in and the guardsman who had told her differently was either lazy or, less likely, in on it.

A fire lit in her eyes as he related Macha’s tale, and he knew he’d chosen well. Varric wasn’t in his rooms at the Hanged Man and Isabela was, by the sound of it, with at least two other people making loud and pleased noises in her room. That left just Anders to ask. Hopefully the healer was feeling better after the misadventure with Ketojan.

Anders wasn’t overjoyed to see them. “Don’t you do anything aside from run all around the city looking for trouble? I thought you were going to look into curing Tranquility for Karl!”

Hawke gave him an unimpressed look and explained Macha’s situation. Anders sighed and softened, the fight going out of the tension in his shoulders.

“We should help him, even if he wants to be a Templar. She shouldn’t have to lose her only family.”

“Also,” Hawke added, “I had a letter from my sister yesterday. She bought a Tranquil and has him in Qarinus with her, which should make her research go much more quickly.”

“She… bought someone?” Anders looked a little ill.

“Yes, and let me tell you, Tranquil do not come cheap in the Imperium,” Hawke said, deliberately missing the point. “But she’s optimistic about her chances, just based on what she’s been able to dig up so far. Something about the timing with the first Inquisition.”

“Are all Tranquil slaves in Tevinter?” Anders demanded. “Is that what you see when you look at Karl?”

Hawke rolled his eyes. “You seem determined to think terrible things about me today. No, I don’t think of Karl as my slave. He should be so lucky, right Fenris?” Hawke didn’t even turn around, but Anders’ eyes flicked to the elf and found him watching with a bemused smile. Fenris nodded, clearly in agreement. “But he wasn’t sold and I didn’t buy him. He’s in my house as a favor to you, and because he might prove useful in curing Tranquility. Can we get back to the missing boy, or did you have more things to accuse me of?”

Anders at least had the grace to appear chastised as Hawke reminded him he was rather deeply indebted. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean - I don’t think you’re a bad person, Hawke.” For some odd reason, his face was flushing. Hawke supposed he was embarrassed - most magisters would be, being reminded of such a one-sided arrangement they had no real way of repaying.

“Good! Aveline’s meeting us at the city gates, let’s get moving.”

* * *

“Guardswoman,” Anders said with a nod when he saw Aveline waiting for them at the gates. He was watching her cautiously.

“Who’s this, Hawke?” Aveline asked, eyeing him right back. She was used to that kind of wary attention from criminals, setting off alarms in her head about the scruffy-looking man with Hawke.

“Aveline, this is Anders the Mage-Warden. He runs that clinic down in Darktown you might have heard of. Anders, Aveline Vallen of Kirkwall’s city guard. Ave, when are you going to let me make you Captain?”

Aveline’s mouth dropped open and her eyebrows flew up nearly to the headband holding back her bright red hair. Then her expression went angry, and she started stalking off down the coast.

“Was it something I said?” Hawke called after her, starting a fast walk to keep up, and turned around to walk backwards and shrug helplessly at Anders and Fenris. Mournfully, “She never laughs at my jokes.”

“Your sense of humor is rather unique, master,” Fenris told him. “You’re about to trip over a rock.”

Hawke whirled back around in time to catch his stumble and keep walking. Still facing forward, he said, “Nonsense! I have excellent balance,” and jogged a little to catch up with Aveline. “Is there something wrong, guardswoman?”

Aveline didn’t look at him, just kept marching down the path with heavy steps and an anger-flushed face. “I think Jeven is working with the Coterie or at least one of the bigger gangs.”

Hawke hissed in a breath, considering that. “So, I’ll admit I was joking before, but I will actually do my best to make you captain if that’s what you want.”

“I want Jeven not to send one-man patrols into Lowtown to sacrifice them and get vital information into the Carta’s hands,” Aveline snapped. “I don’t care who’s captain as long as it’s not him.”

“Do you have any proof against him?”

Aveline’s face went even more red, nearly matching her hair. “Not as such,” she muttered. “I went to the Seneschal to try to open an investigation but he didn’t want to hear me out.”

Hawke scratched at his beard meditatively. He guessed, “That’s about when you started pulling double solo shifts, isn’t it?”

Aveline nodded.

“Not a smart idea, then.”

“I had to do something!” she exclaimed. “Guardsmen were dying for his fucking corruption. I scared him a little - there hasn’t been one sent out in a couple weeks, which I take to mean that it’s about time. In fact, I checked the roster yesterday and there’s one guardsman scheduled for Lowtown’s docks patrol alone tomorrow, and I think that’s the one he’s going to use. I planned on following the guard and helping him if trouble comes up.”

“Sounds like you could use some help,” Hawke decided. “Alright, you’ve twisted my arm enough, I’m in. Fenris! Tomorrow night at the docks, put it on the schedule!”

“Are we skipping Wicked Grace with Varric, then?” Fenris asked.

“With any luck we can make both, but otherwise yes. Maybe Varric wants to come with? Anders, you in?”

“What are we doing?” Anders asked cautiously, well aware by now that Hawke could get himself into the strangest trouble.

“Probably killing some Coterie, saving a guardsman, and getting evidence of corruption on the guard captain.”

Anders sighed. “Yeah, why not.”

* * *

Wilmod’s camp on the Coast was easy to find when they got to the right area: not only was it obvious, but there were two men arguing loudly in the middle of it.

Before Hawke’s party could reach them, the older man in Templar armor had struck the younger to the ground and drawn his sword, demanding information. And the younger man’s skin began to crack the same way Anders’ did.

“Abomination,” the Templar murmured, frozen in shock.

The abomination summoned friends, wraiths from the other side of the Veil, and attacked him. Hawke led with a chain lightning strike, holding his control on it carefully to keep it from jumping to the man in full platemail. Fenris and Aveline were already rushing ahead, closing the gap much faster as Anders had already given them both a haste spell.

The wraiths fell first, dissipated harmlessly under Hawke’s lightning spell and a cone of cold. The abomination took longer, swinging at them with claws as long as swords and a much greater reach than Fenris, Aveline, or the Templar had. Aveline fell back swearing as one slashed through the quilted armor on her legs, and Anders dropped to her side to heal it quickly.

Fenris took the thing’s head off with one swing of his greatsword when it became too distracted trying to kill the Templar. The misshapen head rolled to a stop at the toes of his metal-covered boots, to be kicked away in disgust.

“Stay back, mage,” he warned, pointing his sword at Hawke who had just stepped forward.

Hawke raised one disbelieving eyebrow. “Really? There’s four of us and one of you. And if I wanted you dead, I’d have let the abomination do it and saved myself the trouble.”

The tip of the Templar’s sword wavered, indecision or perhaps exhaustion. Finally it dropped and he said, “You make a good point. I am Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford, and I suppose you’re the magister Meredith won’t shut up about.”

“I haven’t run into any other magisters in this fine city, so I suppose I must be.” Hawke gave him a charming smile. Knight-Captain? He could definitely use a Templar that far up the chain of command. “Garrett Hawke, at your service. I was happy to help with this, although I came here hoping to talk to this fellow - I assume this is Wilmod?”

Cullen’s expression was troubled as he looked down at the corpse of the abomination. “It was. He wasn’t… he definitely wasn’t a mage. How did he come to be possessed by a demon?”

Hawke thought quickly for a moment, weighing the advantages of revealing what he knew. Eventually he decided it would gain him more than it cost. “Being from Tevinter, I’m rather more familiar with demons and possession than I think you are here in the south.” Cullen shot him a suspicious look, and Hawke held up his hands. “I don’t practice it, but I know many who do. From them, and from books back in the Imperium, I know that it is possible to summon demons and entice them into the bodies of non-mages. They don’t really like non-mage hosts, but some will take whatever they can get.”

“Maker save us all,” Cullen groaned. “What is going on here?”

“I was asked to find out,” Hawke lied, “One of your Templars who I met and helped out earlier noticed the disappearances as you did. He asked me to help him seek the culprits and find out what was going on, if anything.”

“Who was it? Why didn’t he come to me?”

“Ser Thrask. I don’t think he wanted to bother you before he had sufficient proof there was something going on.”

“Well I’ve got proof enough now!” Cullen exclaimed. “Maker, this is a nightmare. Thank you for your help, magister. You should probably leave this to the Templars now, although….”

Hawke waited, wondering if he’d baited his trap enough. It was a risk, implying that the Order had indirectly commissioned him in the first place, but he hoped it would register in Cullen’s mind as one favor already owed.

“The last place Wilmod and his friends were seen was at - ” Cullen cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his cheeks, “ - at the Blooming Rose. The whorehouse. I was thinking I might go there next but - ”

“But what would the people think if they saw the Knight-Captain going into such an establishment, regardless of how honorable the intentions! Ser Cullen, I ask you to please let me continue to look into this for you. As you have seen, we can deal with demons easily.”

Cullen looked relieved, and Hawke figured he hadn’t wanted to really tell them why he wouldn’t go into the Rose. The blushing virgin idea was very sweet, though, so Hawke put on his best flirtatious smile as Cullen thanked him for the offer.

Cullen’s blush didn’t really go away until they left.

* * *

“Tell me what you know and your death will be swift instead of slow and hideous.”

Hawke’s voice was soft but backed up by the miasma that was leaking out of his anger, poisoning the air all around him with a feeling of ice-blooded gut-wrenching terror. Even Anders and Aveline stumbled quickly back away from him, their eyes wide with irrepressible animal fear.

Idunna, caught in the full force of it, trembled and opened her mouth only for nothing to come out. Hawke loosened his grip on her throat a little, and she wheezed in a breath.

“It’s a group of blood mages. We were taking the recruits from the Rose, summoning demons into them, and letting them go back in the Gallows. Eventually they wouldn’t know who they could trust, because any one of them might be possessed.”

“Where?” Hawke snarled.

Idunna gasped, “Darktown. Sanctuary.” and her eyes rolled back in her head. Hawke would have thought it was a faint, but his finger was over her pulse and he could feel that her heart had stopped.

He dropped her back on the bed, disgusted, and looked down at his robes to make sure she hadn’t bled or peed on them.

“Hawke, please,” Aveline rasped from behind him. 

Hawke startled, turning, and saw that Aveline was gasping for breath on one knee and Anders had curled up against the wall with his head between his knees and a dangerous blue glow coming from him. Fenris had his shoulders hunched and one hand grasping tightly at Hawke’s sleep, staring blindly into the middle distance, but his pain always manifested in silence.

Horror flashed through Hawke, a bucket of cold water dousing the fire. He reeled the miasma back in, recomposing himself. To lose control now, again, after so long - to forget to protect his allies from the terror and weakness he could inflict on his enemies. His father’s ash-gray face twisted in fear against the ground, the baby twins howling in their mother’s arms as she held them too tightly against herself…. Hawke shoved the memory away.

“I’m sorry,” he said into the deafening silence that followed. “I try not to lose control like that.”

He wished dearly that he could promise it would never happen again, but he was too weak for that. There would be another slip up, and he would inevitably cause pain to the people he loved.

“I can see why,” Anders said to the floor, his voice hoarse.

“That was….” Aveline trailed off, just breathing.

“Entropy magic. Miasma. It’s like an arcane specialist’s shield, it just manifests. That’s not an excuse, I should be able to control it, but she used blood magic on me. I was so angry I just stopped thinking. I’m so sorry. Fenris? Are you alright?”

Fenris wouldn’t look at Hawke. He kept his head tilted to the floor so deeply that Hawke couldn’t see his expression at all, only white hair and pointed ears and the back of his neck. “I am fine, master.”

It was the soft, monotone voice of subservience he had used in the first few days Hawke had known him, and one he hadn't heard in years. It scared the shit out of Hawke.

"Hey, Fenris, look at me for a second," Hawke said gently, tilting Fenris' head up with two fingers under his chin. He finally saw Fenris' face, but the slave kept his eyes downcast, and Hawke could feel how hard his jaw was clenched. Hawke knew what fears Fenris would have seen playing out in his mind's eye. "This is real, okay? I promise this is reality. You're not dreaming."

Fenris nodded along, but he didn't look like he believed in it. Too soon after visions that were too real.

Hawke sighed softly, pulled Fenris' head against his chest and wrapped him in a hug. Over Fenris' shoulder he asked, "Are you two okay? You need hugs too?"

Anders went red, averting his eyes from Hawke. Aveline snorted, some natural color returning to her pale face. "Not likely. Keep groping your elf."

Hawke stroked the back of Fenris' head and neck and murmured another apology in his ear. Blood mages. Why were there so many blood mages in Kirkwall?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I am just _beatin up_ on poor Fenris these last few chapters! I promise I'm not trying to make him my punching bag woobie! Things just keep happening! I blame the blood mages. This is probably the end of hurting Fenris though. Maybe? Hopefully. I'm not doing it on purpose. I love him and want to keep him safe but goddamn.
> 
> Also, with the addition of this chapter, this fic is officially longer than my Naruto fic. Not the most I've ever written for a single story, but probably the longest of anything I've posted.
> 
> If you see anything I haven't tagged but should, either for visibility or warnings, let me know. I'm awful at tagging.


	15. first one's free

It was six abominations and countless shades and wraiths later that they found the naked Templar recruit in the blood mage's Sanctuary, curled in a protective ball inside a glowing pillar of light.

"I really hope that's Keran," said Hawke, who was getting tired of all the demons.

"Whatever his name is, he's a source of power for me now," said the blood mage coming into the room from the other end. She was flanked on either side by more demons, including a desire demon. "Welcome to my sanctuary! You won't be leaving it again."

"Who's going to stop me? Some primal-tree flop-out and her pet monsters?" Hawke snorted. "Not likely."

The woman screamed at him, "You'll be my next host!" and flung out one hand, signalling the demons of desire and rage beside her.

Hawke held Fenris back for a half-second to imbue his blade with frost energy. He muttered, "Keep the rage demon off us."

Aveline had already rushed for the desire demon casting from the back beside her mistress, assuming that the full party of men behind her would hesitate to strike at a beautiful mostly-naked woman. She used her shield on the first winter's grasp spell, letting it splash harmlessly against the metal, and then was close enough to shield-bash the creature in the chest, jolting it backwards.

Fenris had engaged the rage demon, turning its back to the rest of them as he evaded its glowing red claws and slashed back when he could, slowly whittling the thing down. The rage demon didn't require tactics, it was just too big to go down easily; he watched Hawke force a sleep spell on the blood mage and follow it up with a waking nightmare, completely unresisted. The mage tore at her own skin with a shrill scream, not to get at the blood and power, but because she thought there were maggots and worms crawling through her veins.

Fenris turned his full attention back to the rage demon just in time to catch red-hot claws on his bare arm. The skin sizzled and burned, but Fenris was far too seasoned a warrior to drop his sword because of it. He felt a rush of regeneration a moment later and knew it had to be from Anders because Hawke's healing was not that good.

Anders threw a winter's grasp and cone of cold at the demon after he'd made sure Fenris' arm was healing. It screamed under the assault and sank to the ground in a pile of cooling magma, finally dead. Hawke and Aveline were just putting the finishing touches on the desire demon, who shouted "Wait! I would make a - " and died under Hawke's drain life spell.

"Never listen to a demon," Hawke said while they were recovering. "Best not to even let it talk. That's how you wind up like this fool." He had walked over and kicked the blood mage's corpse over. She had bled out, her self-inflicted wounds exacerbated by Hawke's mortality curse.

Keran's glowing prison had faded, dropping the young man almost gently to the ground. He was still naked, so Hawke yanked the blood mage's cloak off to cover the important bits. He kept the hood she had been wearing, though. It was surprisingly nice for being a clear southern fashion.

"Who are you?" Keran asked, taking the cloak Hawke threw at him but shrinking back away from them.

"Your sister and Ser Cullen sent us. Hm. How do we know if he's possessed or not?" Hawke peered at his face like he could see a demon through it.

"I can check." Anders offered, and suddenly lunged forward with a lightning spell crackling in his hand. Keran shouted and fell back, losing his footing. "He's clean. If there was a demon in there, it would have defended itself; that's in their nature."

"Please don't tell the Knight-Captain about the blood magic," Keran begged. "He'll kick me out of the Templars, and I need this job. I need the money."

"I don't see why Cullen needs to know _exactly_ what happened here," Anders said, his eyes begging Hawke. "It'll just turn him against mages even more. It could just be that... slavers kidnapped him or something."

Hawke folded his arms, thinking it over. "No. He needs to be told in case there are other recruits still possessed. But don't worry about your standing; I will make sure you keep your job."

Keran went sickly pale and fled holding the cloak around his waist like a skirt. Hawke watched him go with raised eyebrows; it was a brave man willing to streak through Darktown. He wouldn't have any trouble from people who thought they could mug him for some money, at least.

"Are you finally going to go to the Gallows?" Fenris asked.

Hawke opened his mouth to answer but wound up sighing instead. "Maker, no. Maybe Cullen will meet me at the Hanged Man?"

* * *

Cullen would meet him at the Hanged Man, although he walked into the bar with a look on his face that said he though he was going to catch a disease here. As long as he avoided the scruffy drunk coughing in the corner, though, he'd be fine.

"This is where a magister chooses to spend his time?" Cullen muttered, not really meant to be heard as he sat down at Hawke's usual table.

"I've got much better taste than most of my peers, I know." Hawke said with a wink. Cullen's expression changed to a nervous caution, staring at him. "What? Is there something in my beard?"

"Your beard is clean, master," Fenris said when Hawke turned and looked at him imploringly.

Cullen's eyes darted over to the elf, registering the words and then the collar. "Is he a slave? That's illegal."

"A paid servant, I swear," Hawke lied. "Right Fenris?"

Fenris nodded with a small smile.

Cullen still looked uneasy, but if Fenris wasn't willing to confirm it there was nothing he could do. "Keran came back to the Gallows. He said you got him out of a tight spot?"

Hawke was about to answer when Varric appeared with four tankards and set them heavily on the table. "First round's on me, the rest are on Hawke. If you try any of the beer nuts, make sure they aren't moving first." He nodded toward the wooden bowl of nuts in the middle of the table.

Cullen used one finger to push the bowl farther away, landing it in front of Hawke. Hawke leaned in to look at them, shrugged, picked one up and ate it. "Fascinating. It tastes like regret."

Cullen cleared his throat pointedly. "Keran?"

"Ah! Yes - Varric, you'll be sorry you missed this one. We went to the Blooming rose,"

"Like the Merchant's Guild but with fewer whores," Varric muttered.

"And talked to the woman who had been fucking all your missing Templar recruits." Hawke continued. Cullen winced at the blunt language but didn't say anything. "She turned out to be a blood mage, so I killed her - incidentally, Madame Lusine is not my biggest fan - after I got the location of her friend's hideout from her. Went to the hideout, found the other blood mage, killed her too, and freed Keran." Hawke picked up his tankard and took a long drink from it.

"And what - they were kidnapping my recruits so that they could experiment with demons? And Wilmod escaped? Does that mean Keran is possessed?" Cullen's voice rose at the end and he stood, about to rush out.

"Sit down, like I'd let an abomination get away," Hawke said, gesturing at Cullen's empty chair. Slowly, the man sat back down. "Now, as I was saying - I checked Keran afterwards, and he's clear of any demons. The rest of your recruits, however... if you lost track of any of them for a length of time greater than half a day, you should probably get them checked out."

Cullen cast his mind back, staring sightlessly at the table as he tried to remember. "There are a few. But how would I know? How did you test it?"

"Magic." Hawke held up a hand and made it glow. It wasn't a spell, just for show; Cullen still flinched back from it. "What? You live with mages, you should be used to magic. If there's someone you're not sure of send them to me. I can be discrete, I assure you."

Cullen stared at him balefully. "I wouldn't call what you're pulling with Meredith 'discrete'. But you've been a great help so far... I don't know how this would have gone without you. So I offer you my thanks, and this - a pittance for a magister, I'm sure, but you've earned it." He slid four gold sovereigns across the table. Fenris covered them with his hand and swept them out of view instantly, eyes flickering around the bar to see if anyone had taken note of the glint of gold. No reason to tempt the gangs.

"And I will send a few recruits to your estate. I'll have to tell Meredith that I'm just checking up on you, or something. I think she'll like that."

"You're a good man, Cullen," Hawke smiled warmly, his eyelids dropping a little. "No need to rush off. Stay a while, have a drink. I'd like to get to know you better."

Cullen didn't just flush - his face went from a healthy pink straight to bright red. "I - er - I'm not - thanks but I - um. I'm not... interested?"

Hawke just barely held back his laughter; by the choking sounds next to him as Varric hid behind his ale, the dwarf wasn't faring much better. "Ah, well, you can still drink with us. Wicked Grace is more fun with four, don't you think? How often do you get to take a break and relax with some friends."

"We're not friends?" Cullen asked. He didn't seem to have meant it to be a question, but it came out like that.

"Of course we are. I do favors for my friends all the time, and I don't let friends pay for it." Hawke nodded at Fenris, who leaned toward Cullen and took one wrist so he could drop the four coins back into the Templar's hand. "However, if my friends lose coin to me in a game of Wicked Grace...." Hawke trailed off and winked at Cullen with a grin.

"Unlikely," Varric commented to Cullen as he pulled the pack of cards from his coat and began to deal. "He's got the worst luck at Grace. The elf is the one you gotta watch out for."

Caught in the momentum of both Hawke and Varric assuming he'd be staying, Cullen didn't really have a choice about it. 

“A round or two of Grace couldn’t hurt,” Cullen muttered, “But then I do have to get back to the Gallows.”

“So, being a normal man taking lyrium,” Hawke said, leaning forward to draw from the deck. His eyes lit up as he looked at the new card, but Cullen couldn’t tell if that was an act or if Hawke was just that bad at concealing his expressions. “How is that?”

Cullen shifted uncomfortably, taking his own draw as an opportunity to postpone answering. “Well, the lyrium is different from what you get in potions. It’s refined in a different way.”

Hawke chewed his lip, stealing a glance over at Fenris; Fenris, however, had his expression schooled into mild disinterest. No reading what his cards were. “Yeah, but how does it _feel_? I know when I drink a lyrium potion it’s like getting a runner’s high or a second wind.”

“That’s… kind of private.” Cullen managed eventually.

“So… it gives you a hard-on, right?” Varric guessed. “ _That’s_ why all the Templar recruits are always getting their rocks off at the Rose! You all are dosing ‘em with the good stuff up there.”

“That is not - !” Cullen exclaimed. “No, that’s _not_ it. It just feels powerful, makes you feel like you could take on an ogre single-handedly. And it tends to heighten aggression and lessen inhibitions, which is why we train our recruits to control their impulses.”

“Sounds like blood magic,” Hawke commented, popping another beer nut in his mouth. His nose wrinkled, indicating he might not have looked closely enough to make sure it hadn’t been alive first. At Cullen’s wide-eyed look, he added, “I’ve never, but I know mages who have and they explain it the same way.”

“That’s - they’re nothing alike.” Cullen snapped, recovering himself.

Hawke hummed, sounding neither in agreement or dissent. Varric’s keen eyes looked out over his hand of cards, narrowed at Cullen.

“Funny though,” he said in a measured tone. “There's one way they're similar: neither blood magic nor lyrium comes free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is pretty short, but supposedly it's 2k words so that's chapter-worthy. The chapter title could also have been 'all about Cullen!' but 'first one is always free' fits better with the theme doesn't it?


	16. fog warriors

“The mail, messere,” Arianni said, setting the sealed letters on Hawke’s desk.

Hawke perked up, closing the mine’s ledger with enthusiasm; anything to get away from Hubert’s attempts to cheat him. There was the expected letter from Bethany, one for Fenris from Orana and Varania, more from his associates still in the Imperium updating him on the progress of bills they were watching and voting on, and finally there was one adressed from his estate in Alam.

“Fenris,” Hawke called. Fenris looked up slowly, immersed in one of Varric’s books, and saw that Hawke was holding out a letter to him while staring with trepidation at one in his other hand.

“Alam?” Fenris guessed. He came over and took his own letter, tucking it under his belt to read later.

Hawke confirmed, “Alam.”

“If it’s bad news, it isn’t likely to come in a letter with the house’s seal,” Fenris offered. “Bad news would have the Archon’s seal.”

“No news is good news,” Hawke muttered. “Anything else is just varying levels of bad.”

He cut the seal and unfolded the letter; Fenris leaned in to read over his shoulder, skipping the meaningless pleasantries straight to the important parts.

> _All the new people have been acquired and brought into your houses and lands. They are still in training for now, but we are hopeful for the future. The funds you left the house are still sufficient and serving us well. The town has been very hospitable to our new hires, who are still learning the streets and making friends amongst them. The house grows stronger with each passing day, although the neighbors remain unaware. Still, we do not feel we are ready for visitors or residence yet. Better to stay in another vacation home if you are looking to enjoy the beaches._

_Sincerely, Steward Janna._

Below the signature, in a more hurried, genuine hand: _We’re doing good work up here, Hawke. We have a better chance now than we’ve ever had before and it’s thanks to your help. Your father would be proud._

Hawke ran and hand over his face and scratched at his beard, reading it again. “Well it’s not… bad news.”

“Can’t go home, though,” Fenris grunted. “Or did I read that wrong?”

“No, they were definitely warning us to stay away from Seheron.” Hawke sighed. He crumpled the letter in his hands and burned it with a flash of fire, brushing the ash off into the small trash bin beside his desk.

“Regrets?” Fenris asked.

“I should be there,” Hawke growled. “I can fight, and it’s my home too.”

“They are better served by a voice of reason in the Magisterium,” Fenris said mildly. “And later, if all goes well, the Imperium would be far more willing to bargain with a people who aren’t harboring a traitor magister.”

“I know!” Hawke groaned. “I know, I know. I just don’t like it.”

“I can cheer you up,” Fenris suggested with a sultry smile, moving around to the front of Hawke’s chair and kneeling between his spread legs.

“You always can,” Hawke agreed with his own grin.

Fenris shifted forward on his feet, nuzzling at Hawke’s groin through the robe. Hawke’s breath came fast and shallow as he slid lower in his seat, head tilted forward by the cushion of the chair. One clever hand stole under the hem of his robe, stroking at the inside of Hawke’s knee and inching far too slowly upwards.

Hawke’s fingers gripped the armrests convulsively. He murmured, “Come on, Fenris.”

Fenris smiled at him again, this time with his pupils blown wide open. He pushed Hawke’s robes up around his waist, baring the arousal beneath, and held them there with one arm while the other went to pin Hawke’s hips down.

Hawke’s fingers carded through his white hair but didn’t pull, just held him. Fenris kissed the tip of his cock and licked it once, teasingly, and when Hawke moaned he licked a longer stripe all the way up the underside. At the tip again, he closed his lips around it and sank down fully, taking it into his throat.

“Oh sweet blessing of the Maker,” Hawke swore, his fingers pulling in Fenris’ hair. Fenris hummed in agreement around him, sending a jerk through Hawke’s hips that he restrained with both arms. Hawke moaned, “ _Fenris_ ,” in a pleading tone.

Fenris pulled almost all the way off before he came back down, this time lighting up his lyrium on the downstroke. Hawke never lasted long after the lyrium came into play; soon there was the flicker of a finger against the tip of Fenris’ ear that was his warning. He took a deep breath and sank all the way down on Hawke again, swallowing around the head in his throat as Hawke groaned and came.

“That was perfect, sweetheart,” Hawke pulled Fenris up over his lap, sitting up again to make room. The laces on Fenris’ leggings came undone with a few pulls, allowing Hawke to free his erect cock and begin pumping it slowly in his hand.

Fenris sighed contentedly and rose on his knees a little, making the angle easier for Hawke. Hawke tilted his head up to kiss and suck along Fenris’ neck, his other hand eventually coming up to guide Fenris’ head back down so Hawke could trace his tongue along the shell of it and suck on the tip.

Fenris came with a small noise and a jerk of his hips, barely noticeable except for the semen on Hawke’s hand.

“Thank you, master,” Fenris relaxed back down, settling heavy but comfortable across Hawke’s legs again. He had more access, so he reached into Hawke’s belt and pulled out the handkerchief, using it to clean every drop of his spend off Hawke’s hand.

“Much better,” Hawke pulled Fenris in with one finger crooked under his collar, planting a kiss on his lips. “Feel weird reading Bethy’s letter right now, though. Maybe she’s got something on the Tranquil?”

* * *

Hawke and Fenris found Aveline sitting in her new office, staring at the stacks of paper on her desk blankly. She looked up and scowled as Hawke knocked on the door frame to draw attention.

"Hawke, what are you doing here?"

Hawke grinned, not letting her bad mood affect him. "Just checking in on my new Guard Captain. How's it going, Ave?"

"I'm not _your_ Guard Captain," Aveline snapped. "I told you when you vouched for me to the Viscount, I won't be in your pocket like Jeven was in the Coterie's. I will uphold the law, and if you think you can convince me otherwise I'll quit right now."

Hawke teased, "Ah, but then your replacement might be much easier for me to buy off. Can't win if you don't play."

Now Aveline looked torn, but it passed quickly as she went for her sword.

"Just kidding, Aveline, Maker preserve us, you can't take a joke! I'm not trying to buy you. I just need a favor."

"No," Aveline said immediately.

"You didn't even hear me out," Hawke complained. "It's legal and perfectly ordinary. It's within the duties of the guard, even!"

Suspiciously, "What is it?"

"Varric and I are going on an expedition into the Deep Roads, which will leave my house quite empty except for some mostly defenseless elves I have as servants. I just need the guards to check in on them, say, once a day to make sure they're alright."

"That... seems fine. I can adjust the patrol schedules easily enough." Aveline still looked doubtful, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. She really hadn't liked that Hawke had used his influence with the Viscount to get her the captain's position.

"Also there's this guy I want murdered... Kidding! Wow. Aveline, if you're going to keep taking everything I say so seriously, you're going to give yourself an ulcer."

He didn't mention that if he wanted someone dead, he'd do it himself. She didn't look mollified at all, her eyes wide with outrage and her lip curled up.

"Hawke," she said dangerously, "Get out."

"Have a nice day!" Hawke threw over his shoulder as he pulled Fenris out behind him. Fenris looked back at Aveline, shrugged, and mouthed, 'Sorry.'

Aveline took a deep breath and released it slowly, pressing her knuckles against the spot between her brows where she could feel the headache building. She looked down at the papers again.

At least all of this seemed much easier to handle in comparison to dealing with Hawke.

* * *

"This the crew?" Hawke asked Varric, looking at the group gathered in the Hightown square. There was a cart being loaded with empty crates and bags full of supplies, drawn by an unconcerned bronto. Aside from Varric and Bartrand, there were two other dwarves and a team of humans to do the heavy lifting.

"This _your_ crew?" Bartrand demanded, glaring at the scruffy-looking Anders and Isabela in her barely-there clothing.

Anders straightened up, offended. "You're going to turn down having a Warden along on your Deep Roads expedition?" Then he remembered that it had take a full ten minutes of Hawke asking for him to agree in the first place, and brightened up a little. "In which case, I will go right back to my clinic."

"You're coming, Blondie," Varric said, shoulder Bartrand out of the way. "Rivaini, good to see you. Sober, no less."

"Regrettably," Isabela sighed. "Tell me we're taking some rum. I'll mutiny if there's no rum!"

Hawke leaned down a little to mutter to Varric, "We do have rum, right?"

"Yes, there's rum. Hawke, this is Bodahn and his son Sandal. They have some experience in the Deep Roads, so they'll be a good help. Our group is along as the guards and to clear the path ahead for these louts." Varric hooked a thumb at the man loading up the cart behind him, who turned around with a frown on his face.

"We've got names, you know," the man grumbled.

Hawke gave him a winning smile. "My friend here just isn't very good at dealing with the hard-working common man; you know how dwarven nobles can be." By his expression, the man did not, but Hawke had turned on the charm and he was ready to agree to almost anything. "So tell me about our supply situation, yes?"

"What's he doing?" Isabela stage-whispered to Fenris. She watched Hawke clap the man on the shoulder and pull in another of the workers. "Is he conning them? Is this a con? They can't have much worth taking...."

Fenris had been glaring at her, but then realized she wasn't going to stop bothering him. "He likes talking to people. Especially ones who work for him."

"I can't believe I'm about to go into the fucking Deep Roads again," Anders was muttering, mostly to himself.

"Come on, it can't be that bad," Isabela cajoled, "I mean, if we were on a ship there would be much less space to live in."

"Ships are always going somewhere," Anders shuddered. "And there's open air, and sunlight. Underground it's just darkness and stone and knowing that there's tons of rock over your head waiting to come down and no way out unless you backtrack your steps perfectly... I hate the Deep Roads, and that's not even counting the darkspawn we're inevitably going to run into."

"Let's get moving, people!" Bartrand barked at them. "Before the next Blight, if you please!"

* * *

Sitting around a large mage-light didn't have the same peaceful effect as sitting around a fire, but it was bright and warm, and they weren't lugging around heavy logs to burn so it was the only option.

Isabela held her hands up to it and rubbed them together. "I do so love camping with the family."

"My family never went camping," Varric commented from beside her, polishing Bianca. "They figured the surface world was already uncivilized enough."

Anders, from under the pile of blankets that had been his home for the last three days, "No time for camping in the Anderfels. Also, who would want to? It's just a lot of blighted land. I did some camping on my escapes though, and that was always... awful. But I was outside and free." He sighed.

"How 'bout you, Hawke?" Varric asked, nudging Hawke on his other side.

"Hm?" Hawke looked up from his preoccupation staring into the fire. "Oh, camping. I did it a lot after my father died, traveling all around the Imperium. It was great but lonely."

"You didn't have Fenris with you then?" Anders asked, peering out from under his blanket-hood. He'd complained about the cold from the moment they opened the entrance to the Deep Roads and hadn't stopped until Hawke buried him in wool and cloth.

Hawke shook his head. "No, my family was actually quite modest then. We weren't at the poverty line, but nowhere near what we would be after I killed Danarius."

Fenris shivered slightly against Hawke, only noticeable because they were pressed together from shoulder to hip. Hawke tilted his head, resting it on top of Fenris' like he was tired.

Anders asked wistfully, "What's it like up there?"

Isabela perked up. "Yes, Hawke, tell us a story from Tevinter! Preferably with some sexy times in it."

Hawke thought about it. With Alam and Seheron on his mind, one incident in particular stood out. "Well, this happened a few months before we came to Kirkwall, and unfortunately there are no specially sexy times in it."

"Boo! Well, go on then," Isabela circled her hand.

"We were at the estate just outside Alam - that's the Imperium's main city on Seheron, although not the capitol - when the city's evacuation alarm bells went off. We're a bit far from the city, but the bells are magic; you can practically hear them in Seheron itself - that's the capitol, confusing, I know.

"The city had only used the full evacuation bells once before, the first time the Qunari invaded and took Seheron. I got my sister and the slaves and we went to the harbor with everyone else, all trying to pile onto the ships," Isabela winced dramatically, and Hawke nodded at her. "Isabela knows; ships can only hold so much. We were so far away, we had taken so long, that there was only one ship left I could get on, and it was the magisters' ship. It's meant to take magisters across whenever they want, but it was _only_ accepting magisters and their families."

Hawke fell silent for a moment, the alarm bells still ringing clearly in his memory, the screaming from people who realized they were being left to die. The pockets of vicious fighting that broke out until the docks golems could step in to break it up.

Varric prompted, "So what did you do?"

"I tried to stay behind," Hawke admitted. "I wasn't going to leave without my people... without Fenris. But Bethany wouldn't get on the fucking ship. She refused, unless I went with her. She was so scared... she said she wouldn't leave without me, and I couldn't risk her like I would risk myself. So I got on the ship."

Hawke fell silent.

"That's a shit story," Isabela commented. "What, is that it?"

Hawke nudged Fenris. "The rest is his to tell. I was gone until the end."

Fenris looked up imploringly. "I told you what happened, you can tell them."

"But I like hearing your voice," Hawke batted his eyes at Fenris.

Fenris sighed at sat up, staring with determination into the mage-light. His voice, when he eventually spoke, was stilted. "Master Hawke entrusted me with the lives of the other slaves, so I led them back through the city. There was rioting in the streets, people already looting, so I had the ones who could pick up things they could use as weapons, even though slaves aren't allowed to arm themselves even in wartime. I brought them through the whole city, but we encountered the invaders at the city gates. It was the Qunari again.

"They had us trapped in the city; I knew not why their naval forces hadn't struck as well, leaving the sea open for escape. Later I learned that a fisherman had seen the Qunari naval forces on the move and warned the Imperium. At the time, I only knew I was probably going to die fighting the Qunari. They nearly had the gates down under their battering ram. That was when the fog warriors showed up."

Hawke tapped Fenris' thigh, taking over for a moment. "Fog warriors are the guerrilla group made up of Seheron's native people. They have some alchemy that produces a lot of very thick fog, which they attack through. It's amazing to see, but very frightening."

Fenris continued, "The gates burst and the Qunari advanced, but then the fog erupted from amidst their ranks. I had led the others to a house and taken shelter there while I watched from the roof. I saw the fog and heard the screaming from within it, and not very many Qunari escaped it. A few did, but I saw the warriors run out of the fog after them. All seemed clear, so I led the slaves out of the gate quickly and started down the road to the estate.

"We ran into another party of the Qunari along the way. It was eight of them against thirty-one slaves, which was no real odds. They correctly targeted me first, using only two of their number to keep the rest occupied. I was only able to kill one of them before I was struck down, and nearly died. The fog warriors saved our lives a second time, dragging me out of there and killing the Qunari who remained.

"They released the other slaves to go back to the estate, but took me back to their camp so that I could be nursed back to health. I stayed with them for a few weeks while I healed, learning some of their ways. Then master came back for me." Fenris smiled down at his hands, which had been twisting nervously as he spoke.

"I found him," Hawke laughed with remembering, "With three little kids hanging off of him asking to be shown 'the glowing thing'! Fenris isn't great with kids. He offered to show them how to throw daggers instead."

"They always wanted to see the glowing thing," Fenris muttered peevishly. "I was tired of it."

Hawke, still grinning, wrapped one arm around Fenris' shoulders and hugged him. He figured Fenris was probably remembering the conversation they'd had at the edge of camp, away from the others.

_You seem so happy with them. Do you want to stay here?_

And how Fenris hadn't answered very quickly. How he'd had to think about it.

_My place is with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter until the end of Act 1! Lots of hints about Alam and why Hawke and Fenris are _really_ in Kirkwall in this one, which doesn't have much bearing on the overall plot but is still an interesting little side-piece I cooked up! I'm sure by this point someone can guess what's going on....
> 
> Also, sorry if it was hard to slog through the storytelling dialogue. Fenris is a shit storyteller and I had to use his voice. But here's this story's take on the fog warrior incident! No mass-murder for our favorite lil' elf this time.
> 
> Ya'll are getting spoiled with these nearly daily updates, but you keep spoiling me with reviews so it evens out. Thanks to everyone still reading this far in!


	17. the primeval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE ARE AT THE END OF ACT 1 PEOPLE
> 
> Have fuuuuun!

"Why do so many people in my life want to put me underground?" Anders complained loudly from the back of the group. "First the Templars, then Surana, now Hawke... is it the pale Anderfels complexion? Do people see my face and say 'he must spend a lot of time underground, he's used to it'?"

"You live in Darktown, sweetheart," Isabela reminded him. "You _should_ be used to it."

"I have windows! With a lovely sea breeze, until the fishermen come back and spoil it with dead-fish smell."

Fenris made a face at the mention of fish. "Can you be quiet? I am trying to listen for any more enemies."

Anders snorted. "If it's darkspawn, I'll sense it before you hear it."

"We're also looking for a lost dwarf," Fenris snapped.

"Oh, the elf is snippy!" Anders mocked. "Down, boy."

Anders tripped over his next step, his foot frozen to the stone. He caught himself on his hands with a shout, looking down to see what had grabbed at his boot.

Hawke had stopped and turned, the remnants of the ice spell still glowing cold blue around his hand. "I get that you're scared, so I'm not going to actually hurt you. But you don't talk to Fenris like that, is that clear?"

Anders' mouth opened, and by the angry look still on his face nothing good was going to come out of it. Varric walked into him with a deliberate kick to the shins, saying, "Oops, Blondie, didn't see ya there. Here, let's get you up."

Varric grabbed Anders by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet, brushing dust off the front of his robes. Low so that Hawke couldn't hear, he muttered, "If you ever want anything to come of that crush of yours, play nice with the elf. And don't talk to him like that, really."

Anders flushed, not meeting Varric's eye. He picked up his pace, catching up to Hawke and Fenris who had already moved along. "Time to eat some crow?" Isabela murmured with a wicked grin as he passed her.

"Hey, Fenris... I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just, I don't like being in the Deep Roads and it's making me say things I shouldn't."

Fenris glanced back, expressionless, and shrugged.

Anger flashed through Anders again at being so dismissed, drowning out the "Thank you, Anders," from Hawke.

But as he opened his big mouth again, Isabela's hand yanked at the back of his robes and stopped him short. "Pick your battles better, sweetheart," she suggested.

They found Sandal surrounded by darkspawn corpses, with no obvious reason for why or how they died. When asked, Sandal responded with a cheerful, “Enchantment!”

“I don’t know what else I expected,” Hawke said, patting the dwarf on the shoulder. “Go back that way, Sandal - follow the corpses, alright? That’ll take you back to Bodahn.”

Sandal nodded readily enough and set off, so it seemed he understood. Hawke led them forward again, to battle with darkspawn mages and, eventually, a dragon and her nest of dragonlings.

“Dragons!” Hawke exclaimed, grinning.

“Is he really happy about this?” Anders shouted over the din of the dragons roaring and hissing.

“This will be a great story, at least,” Varric called back, “If we survive.”

The dragon did not die easily. Anders brought Fenris around from unconsciousness twice, both times healing wounds that would have been mortal if not for his help. Hawke kept the dragonlings confused while he beat them down with his staff blade and kept applying his death curse to the dragon so that Varric’s bolts hit critical spots each time. Isabela was striking from stealth every chance she got, hamstringing two of the creature’s legs in short order.

After the dragon was lamed, the fight got easier: Fenris no longer had to worry about being swiped to the ground again, freeing him up to keep stabbing his sword at the thing’s mouth. Every time it went to bite, it met hard steel instead of yielding flesh. It telegraphed its fire breath badly, rearing its head back to prepare and giving Hawke enough time to cast a barrier around Fenris.

Varric landed the killing blow straight through one furious red eye, puncturing the brain behind it. The dragon collapsed to the ground and exhaled its last hot breath.

In the silence after, Anders slowly straightened up and asked, “Anybody dying?”

Hawke did a full-body check on himself and Fenris with magic, looking for wounds the adrenaline wasn’t letting them feel yet. “We’re good here,” he reported.

“That was fun!” Isabela chirped, finally fading back into full view. “Let’s not do it again, though. I think it stained my boots.”

“Would have got your pants too, if you ever wore any,” Hawke nodded at the smear of black dragon’s blood on her thigh with a grin.

“That’s why I don’t! Much less laundry to worry about.”

“Hey, Rivaini, come here and help me get to the good loot. This thing’s got a hoard over here,” Varric called, pointing up to the nest in an upper alcove.

Varric boosted Isabela up, letting the agile rogue pull herself into the alcove and start shoving coin and gear down to the rest of them. When she was done, Isabela’s head poked out over the edge again.

“Hey,” she called down, “I can see what looks like a side passage from here! I think we’ve found our way around that blockage, boys.”

* * *

Bartrand was pleased to hear about the work-around, gathering the men and the cart together again. They set up camp right before the last set of doors, unwilling to open them and risk more enemies while the group of clearers was still so tired from the battle with the dragons.

They were sitting around the mage-light again, Varric having just finished an improbable tale involving himself, two prostitutes, and a baron, when Hawke asked, “What in the Maker’s name is that thing?”

The others turned to follow his gaze, aimed at the dark behind Anders and Varric.

“Oh, that’s a nug,” Varric said, surprised. “You’ve never seen one before? It’s a staple in the underground dwarf’s diet.”

“No,” Hawke watched avidly as the nug continued to advance toward their light in an unconcerned, toddling kind of gait. “It’s… is there something wrong with it?”

Varric said, “No, I think they’re pretty much all like that.”

The hairless little creature finally passed between Anders and Varric, and stopped in front of the mage-light. It sniffled for a moment before it plopped itself down with the hind legs straight out in front and the forelegs set primly between them. It blinked sleepily at the people circled around and then looked back at the light with a dull interest.

“It’s adorable,” Hawke said slowly, with reverence. He crawled forward, moving slowly, but needn’t have bothered with stealth; the nug was passive and calm even when he scooped it up into his hands. “Who could eat you?” he cooed at the thing.

“The hands always put me off,” Anders muttered. “But I wouldn’t call it cute.”

“Look at that face!” Hawke insisted, turning it around to show Anders the blunt nose. Anders just shrugged at him. Hawke turned more to face Fenris.

“It is very cute, master,” Fenris said loyally.

“I’m keeping it,” Hawke decided. “Look, he’s far too trusting to be allowed to wander around down here. He’ll walk right into some darkspawn and die tomorrow.”

Varric ducked under Hawke’s hands for a moment and came up correcting, “She. Girl nug.”

Hawke held the nug up under its tiny arms, letting its hind legs kick for a moment. He announced, “Her name is Dorothea. Nobody eats her.”

“Can I pet Dorothea?” Isabela asked.

Hawke cradled the nug belly-up in his arm and graciously brought her over to Isabela. “You may.”

Dorothea was showed around the circle, even Anders giving her a little pat on the head. She took this all rather well, with only mild squirming. Hawke offered her a bit of the meat from his dinner first - 

“Better not, that’s actually nug ham,” Varric warned.

And after that tried the bread, which was a great hit. She was more tentative about the cheese but seemed to like it well enough, and she couldn’t eat the dried apricot fast enough.

“So tomorrow we’ll move on into that Thaig,” Bartrand said from behind Hawke. “You’ll be ready then, right? What are you all staring at over here?”

“Hawke’s adopted a nug,” Varric told him, shrugging. “Yeah, we’ll be ready early tomorrow.”

Bartrand looked over Hawke’s shoulder at the nug in his lap. “Good eating on a nug,” he commented. “Good idea, in case our food runs low.”

Hawke shot him a thin smile and said, “She’s not for eating.”

Bartrand’s derision was clear in his tone, as his eyes flickered over to Fenris. “Don’t you have enough pets?”

Hawke dropped all pretense of a friendly smile. His stare was intense and unrelenting, boring into Bartrand’s eyes. “You’re going to have terrible nightmares tonight, and if you ever speak to me like that again I’ll make sure you never sleep soundly again.”

“I’m a dwarf, you can’t magic me that easily,” Bartrand didn’t sound so sure, though. His voice wavered.

Hawke’s smile returned, sharp and earnest. “Sleep well, Bartrand.”

Bartrand fled from their circle, tripping over himself in the dark as he went back to his own tent. Hawke turned back to the others. “Sorry about your brother, Varric.”

“He deserves it,” Varric muttered, drinking from the bottle of rum before passing it back to Isabela. 

“No, I mean sorry he’s your brother. I’ve got a brother too, and he’s irritating but not nearly such an asshole.”

“I’ll trade you,” Varric offered.

“No thanks.”

“Sorry again about what I said before,” Anders said in a quiet aside. At Fenris’ blank look, he added, “About you being snippy? And the… dog comment.”

“When did you…? Oh. I don’t care, Warden.” Fenris shrugged. “Master does, especially more now that we’re in the south and no one here is his equal. But it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Still, I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t have said it. I know what it’s like to not be free.”

Interest finally sparked behind Fenris’ eyes. “You were a slave? In the south?”

“The mages kept in their Circles are kind of slaves, yes,” Anders said thoughtfully. “It’s just that no one wants to call it that, or for other people to be able to call it that, so they hold back from certain things. But it’s certainly closer to slavery than freedom.”

The interest died as Anders spoke, and he wondered where he’d lost Fenris. “That is not slavery, then. A comfortable imprisonment at worst.”

“You can’t say that to me,” Anders hissed. “You’ve never been in one, the only mages you’ve known are free magisters in Tevinter - ”

“I have known masters and slaves enough,” Fenris interrupted. “I know that slaves are property and nothing else in the eyes of the law. You can melt a sword down to sell the metal, and a master can kill his slaves to sell their parts. Can you say the same? Do they have unfettered, unchecked control over the mages in their charge?”

“Yes!” Anders shouted, finally drawing attention from the other. “Yes, they do!”

“No they don’t.” Fenris said easily, simply, with a mean grin. “Or you would not be here.”

Anders was pale with two furious red splotches on his cheeks. He got up and stalked away without another word, into the dark passage they’d just come from.

“Anders!” Isabela called after him. She glanced back at Fenris, who wore spiteful satisfaction like a cloak around his shoulders, and remembered how he had attacked her. “I’ll go make sure he’s okay.”

Hawke went over and deposited Dorothea in Fenris’ lap, taking one arm by the wrist and making Fenris pet her back. Fenris took over the movement voluntarily at the end, positioning her closer and stroking down the soft, wrinkly skin. Fenris lost his tension slowly, leaning his head into Hawke to hide his face from the others.

Hawke petted down his hair and neck, humming a low tune that Fenris knew the words to.

“I know what I am,” Fenris mumbled into Hawke’s throat. “Why do they always want to talk about it? I don’t want to talk about it.”

“If it meant nothing, you could talk about it easily,” Hawke pointed out. His voice was low, but the Deep Roads were quiet and he saw Varric watching them. With a flash and narrowing of his eyes, Hawke warned him to keep silent.

“It means nothing,” Fenris pressed, viciously, his fingers tightening on Dorothea until she squeaked and he let go. He repeated, “It means nothing. I am what I am. It does not need analyzing.”

“You are a slave,” Hawke agreed, his beard brushing against Fenris’ hair as he nodded. “And you want that, and you think that means you can't hate slavery, but you do.”

Fenris was silent.

* * *

Anders and Isabela had returned by ‘morning’ the next day, though both were ruffled and giving off a rather distinctive smell.

“I know a spell if you’re worried about kids,” Hawke offered as they were packing the tents away, speaking quietly.

Isabela winked at him. “Anders has a potion for it.” She looked up, over to where Anders was fishing through his supplies for something. She suggested, “Maybe we should keep those two separate, though. Fenris did a number on him.”

“My wolf’s got a razor tongue,” Hawke shrugged.

“As I recall, that’s not the only thing his tongue is good for,” Isabela grinned and stood up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks anyway, love.”

"Everyone ready?" Varric called, striding over from where he had been checking on the bronto. Bartrand, still standing by the cart, was looking rather pale and drawn.

"All good here I think," Hawke answered.

Fenris finished his morning stretches, ignored Isabela's wolf-whistling, and came over to stand next to Hawke.

He asked, "Where's Dorothea?"

Hawke got an immediately shifty look on his face. "Don't worry about it."

Now that Fenris was looking for it, he saw a suspicious bulge in Hawke's robes. It was unlikely that Hawke had put on several pounds since last night, so Fenris assumed that was Dorothea in some kind of carrying harness.

"She looked lonely when I put her down," Hawke explained. "And I won't put her on the cart with Bartrand, he'd try to eat her!"

"Just stay on the backline so she doesn't get crushed," Fenris requested with a long-suffering sigh.

Inside the thaig, the ceiling vaulted up drastically, disappearing into darkness before the light could reach the top. It was upheld by passive pillars lining the avenue, each with its own geometric design, greatly resembling the geometric patterns Kirkwall was known for. At the end of the avenue were steep steps leading up to a dais, the top of it out of view from the door, but clearly visible even from that low angle were the two tall statues flanking the dais and facing the entrance.

"What is this stuff?" Varric wondered, stepping cautiously closer to the glowing red lines that covered the walls and parts of the floor. They also crept up the human-shaped statues, illuminating features that were perhaps best left in the dark. Hawke recognized that the statues were wearing robes.

The red lines weren't the dwarves' version of mage-light, as he'd first assumed. "It's lyrium!" Varric exclaimed, taking a big step back. "No one touch it, no one go near it, that's lyrium. Why the fuck is it red?"

"Come on, boys," Isabela took off for the stairs, shouting over her shoulder. "Big fancy place like this? There's bound to be treasure somewhere. Oh, look at this...."

Hawke followed her up. There was a pedestal in the middle of the dais, something bright red resting on it. Isabela circled it warily, checking for traps.

She looked up as Hawke stopped in front of the pedestal. "Seems clear. Want to pick it up, magic-fingers?"

Hawke picked it up off the altar. It was veined with the same bright red color that crept up the walls and the statues, but dimmer. Like the lyrium had been contained. The bottom half was flat planes, only a rough beginning of a carving, but the top had been completed: an emaciated human shape trapped within some monstrous hook, its face upturned and carved with huge, pleading depths for eyes.

"It was a slave."

Isabela had already moved on, down the back of the dais to poke around the statues' feet. She turned back with a curious look. "What was that, Hawke?"

Hawke shook his head, trying to get rid of the noise-pressure on his ears. It felt like he'd just walked from a busy street into a sound-proofed house, but nothing had changed.

"What was what?" he asked.

"You said something about slaves. Fenris, you heard that too, right?"

"You said something, master, but I did not hear it," Fenris looked regretful, moving up to Hawke's side to look at the idol in his hands. "What is it?"

"No idea," Hawke admitted, staring into the thing's eyes again. Was the lyrium glowing out of the sockets? In just tiny pinpricks, like pupils. "Its important, though.... I should keep it."

"You should put it down, Hawke," Varric's voice came from behind Hawke, and he did not sound friendly. Hawke turned and saw that Varric had Bianca out, loaded but pointing at the ground. For now.

"Why?" Hawke snapped. "First your brother tries to cheat me, are you trying to get in on it?"

"Hawke!" Anders and Isabela exclaimed.

Fenris, slowly: "Master...."

"Hawke, you're glowing," Varric explained carefully. "Not in a good way. I think you should put the idol down. Better yet, give it to me so I can throw it away."

"You can't throw it away, it's important!" Hawke said, holding the idol closer. He glanced down and couldn't look away again, staring at the curve behind the gaunt human figure, the hands raised in supplication. "It has a power...."

"You've never needed someone else's power before," Fenris said in his ear, his arms wrapping around Hawke's middle and disturbing Dorothea in her pouch. "Master, please. This isn't you."

Hawke shuddered for a moment, pulled away from the rising tide of noise in his head. "Fenris?"

"Give the idol to the dwarf," Fenris pleaded.

Hawke held the idol out at full arm's length and dropped it into Varric's hands. As soon as it left him, he felt clearer.

"Get that away from me," he snarled, suddenly irate. "Get it away from everybody. It's enchanted, or possessed, or something."

That said, he turned around and embraced Fenris back. He felt cold. The idol had been warm to the touch from the beginning, as though it was alive. He thought he remembered feeling a heartbeat while he held it.

Distantly, he heard Varric talking to Bartrand. His position had faced him toward the statues again, and he tried to focus on anything but the urge to run back for the idol.

"Fenris," he whispered, "You know what else has been bothering me this whole time?"

"What is it, master?" Fenris whispered back.

"This is a dwarven thaig. The architecture says dwarves built it, it's down in the Deep Roads with the rest of dwarven civilization...." Hawke trailed off, his eyes tracing the carved folds of the robes, up to the old-fashioned designs in the middle. He'd seen that before.

"Yes, it is clearly of dwarven make."

Fenris' voice jolted him to the present, bringing back with him the memory he had been trying to call up, of seeing robes like that on a statue the Imperium was taking down for being blasphemous.

"So why are there statues of Old God magisters down here?" Hawke asked.

Bartrand slammed the door and locked them in their tomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH happening! Hawke adopts a nug, we learn some more stuff about Fenris, Anders acts like a dick because he's under a lot of pressure, and Hawke nearly gets red-lyrium crazed!
> 
> I took some liberties with the thaig, it having been a while since I played the game. I won't be slogging us through getting out of the Deep Roads, so we'll start the next part right after getting out with the hella amounts of gold they find at the end. Also, I was going for creepy while describing the idol so I hope I hit that at least a little.


	18. spirit talking

"I see daylight!" Fenris shouted.

"Thank the Maker," Isabela murmured. She wasn't usually one for prayer, but she, Varric, and Hawke had been alternating taking care of the increasingly distressed Anders basically since the door had slammed shut on them most of a day ago. She looked over her shoulder at Hawke with a grin.

Hawke returned her an exhausted smile of relief. He'd born the brunt of the work, summoning water and fire when they stopped to rest, rubbing Dorothea's ears when she poked her head out of his robes. No one had said anything about the food supply, but that was only because it was quite clear what the first casualty would be when they got hungry enough.

Fenris and Varric were up ahead, shoving at a boulder to widen the opening. Already bright daylight streamed through, nearly blinding even in that small amount. Anders was standing with his hands in the small puddle of light, fingers curled like he could grip it.

His eyes glowed blue briefly and he reached out and made a motion like he was parting a curtain. The rocks moved at once, crashing back against each other, raising a cloud of dust for a much larger sunbeam to filter through.

Anders was at the opening first, clawing his way up out of the grave. He fell onto the ground in the forest outside, heaving huge breaths of fresh air in and out.

Varric fell beside him, fingers curling into the earth. "People live down there," he said with sick wonder, "On _purpose_. They like it."

"Dwarves are strange," Fenris agreed.

Hawke had climbed on top of the little hill they'd just come out of, standing in the clear sunlight uncontested by the shade of trees. He had rolled up his robe's sleeves and was looking at his arms. Mournfully, he said, "I think I'm losing my tan."

"Master, please come down before the tunnel collapses under you," Fenris requested, hovering nervously at the mouth of the cave.

"Fenris, make a note: when we get back, I want to start sunbathing in the back garden, or else I'll start looking like these pale southern savages."

"Hey," Anders said, trying for offended. "No, never mind, you look good tanned." He laughed, giddy, and belatedly realized what he'd revealed. Maybe Hawke hadn't noticed.

"Where are we?" Isabela was squinting up at the sky. "If it was nighttime I could tell you a bit more, but right now my plan is to find something tall and climb it to look for landmarks."

Hawke shrugged. "Don't look at me, my sense of direction is shit. Fenris?"

"The other side of Sundermount, I believe," Fenris said, his eyes closed as he remembered the twists and turns, the distance traveled. "Overland it will take two weeks to reach Kirkwall. Less if we find a good road early on."

"Everybody still got their riches?" Varric asked, patting his own bag. That demon's hoard had contained a lot of valuables, most of it in things lighter than carrying around solid gold would be.

"I'm going to buy a boat," Isabela said with a wide grin, peeking again at her treasures. The enchanted rings and amulets alone would fetch a nice price.

"I can buy so much for my clinic," Anders announced. "Elfroot and spindleweed for days... And clean tools! Maybe I can even get a real bed?"

"You don't have a bed?" Hawke asked, scandalized. "What, are you sleeping on the floor?"

"One of the patient cots, but they aren't made for long-term sleeping. Not very comfortable."

"Travesty. I will buy you a bed."

Anders turned red. He could hear his old self saying _You could help me break it in too,_ but he had other work to be doing. No time for distractions with Hawke.

"We don't have much daylight left," Varric reported from the ground, where he was still sprawled out next to Anders. "Make camp here and head out for Kirkwall in the morning?"

"Sounds good to me," Isabela said with a shrug. "I am so hungry. Varric, darling, as the only archer here...."

"Fuck, I am not a good hunter. Let's go, Rivaini. You can flush something out for me."

"We have to collapse that cave before we leave," Anders said to Hawke while the other two set off into the forest. "We can't leave an opening for the darkspawn to find, or for someone else to get lost in."

Hawke and Anders debated how to close up the hole, with Hawke arguing that it should be Anders because, "It's not like the rocks have brains and I can scare them into doing what I want."

"I'm a creation specialist!" Anders exclaimed. "What do you want me to do, grease-spell them into falling on each other?"

"They would have to already be moving for that to work," Hawke pointed out.

"That was sarcasm and you know it."

Fenris, meanwhile, had found a nice branch, wedged it between two rocks near the top of the opening, and kicked it. The rocks shifted and fell out of place, bringing a chain reaction from the ones around them. Fenris leapt away nimbly as the cave collapsed.

"Good job, Fenris," Hawke said proudly. "I wonder if there's somewhere to wash around here? I've got a week's worth of Deep Roads dirt and dust grinding into my skin. Let's go look."

Anders watched them go for longer than he probably should have. Eventually they were out of sight between the trees, and he sighed and took off his robe, leaving him in only a thin tunic and pants. He bundled up the robe and sat down, putting it under his head and closing his eyes. A nap in what sunshine remained, that was just what he needed to recover.

* * *

"Could you not scry for it?" Fenris asked as they paused once again to listen hard for the sound of running water.

Hawke grimaced. Scrying involved summoning a small, non-sentient Fade spirit that lived in the area and asking it for guidance. It wasn't blood magic or even dealing with a demon, but Malcolm had had a southerner's fear of spirits and Hawke had only learned it with reluctance from Aureus.

But it would be much easier.

Hawke summoned his magic, exerting the influence of the Fade on the material realm. He flashed power through it, unformed but noticeable, drawing the attention of several wisps that he could now sense were hovering in a close parallel. He chose the second-strongest of them, enticing it closer with the connection to reality, and eventually brought a manifestation of it back through with him.

Fenris took a step back from the glowing wisp of a creature, nothing but a green swirling cloud that slowly took on a vaguely human shape. It gained a head and the suggestion of shoulders, but no other features.

"Where is the nearest source of clean water?" Hawke asked it.

_?_

Hawke rolled his eyes and concentrated on cool, clear water bubbling up from a stream, running through a forest. " _Water_."

_...._

"I think it knows you're supposed to offer something in trade," Fenris muttered, watching the mist of the spirit's form boil with agitation.

"If it wants blood, I send it back," Hawke warned, picturing the relevant words clearly so that the spirit could understand.

_no. something real._

"You can't transport real things into the Fade," Hawke told it, confused. "And even if you could, why would you want that?"

_real things. words that have happened far away._

"It wants... memories?" Hawke waited for the confirmation. "To share, not to be taken. Alright then."

_water_ , the spirit said with a rush of the idea of water in Hawke's mind. _this way_.

The wisp led them off at a diagonal from the camp, eventually stopped at the edge of a tiny but clear stream. The water moved silently, undisturbed by rocks or drops. They might never have found it.

"Thank the Maker, I can stop summoning it," Hawke sighed. "Take what you want, wisp."

The unnerving part was that he couldn't feel a thing as it presumably rifled through his mind looking for some idea it liked to latch on to. If it found his rage, would it become a rage demon? If it liked his entropy, would it become a fear demon?

But it found something it liked, its smoky form thickening for a moment, almost taking on a shape. Then it fled back into the Fade, dissipating like mist on a sunny morning.

"Oh, how nice," said a sweet voice behind them.

Fenris whirled around with his sword already drawn, jumping in front of Hawke. Hawke raised both hands, holding fire in one and a paralysis spell in the other.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you! I didn't think many other mages dealt with spirits like I do, it was just so wonderful to see someone talking nicely with one, I'm sorry." A Dalish elf stepped out from behind the tree she'd been hiding around, waving with both hands to show she was unarmed. "My name is Merrill, hello."

"Dalish," Fenris growled, finally face-to-face with the kind of elf he was always mistaken for. He didn't know how, if they were all as skittish as this one looked.

"Well, yes, I suppose I still am..." Merrill trailed off, her eyes going distant. "But I don't have my clan anymore. Should I have told you that? Oh dear, I'm afraid I'm not very good at talking to shemlen yet. I haven't had much... any practice at all, really."

"Er," Hawke said. He'd been worried, briefly, when she mentioned talking to spirits, but now he wondered if she wasn't just addled. "Where is your clan?"

"On the other side of Sundermount, closer to Kirkwall," Merrill said, wringing her hands in front of her and looking down at them. "They, um, they didn't like me much so I left. Only I didn't have anywhere to go, so I've just been living out here. Do you want to see my camp?"

She was looking at them with those huge elf-eyes so hopefully. If Fenris would subject himself to such a look he could probably have anything he wanted, Hawke thought. "Well, we've got some more friends over this way and we should really check in with them first. Why don't you come with? If you've been alone you must be pretty lonely."

"Well, sometimes I am," Merrill admitted, "But then I can summon some spirits to talk to, even if they aren't very good at conversation. At least I know they're enjoying themselves! It would be nice to be among people again, but... are there other elves? Or more humans? How many are you?"

Hawke briefly considered the possibility of a Dalish trap, baited with a sweet little thing like Merrill to scout them out and then send in a party big enough to take them out, but he wasn't getting any kind of malicious read off of the girl.

"There's five of us. Me, Fenris, two other humans named Anders and Isabela, and a dwarf named Varric. Just over this rise, I think...."

He led Merrill back to their little campsite, where Anders was dozing as Varric and Isabela put together a real firepit for the first time in a week.

“Good, you’re back, light this,” Varric said, and then looked up at Hawke. “Er, magister, I think your elves are multiplying.”

“Magister?” Merrill repeated softly, confused.

“This is Merrill,” Hawke said, putting a hand on her thin shoulder to draw her forward. “Merrill is a Dalish elf who left her clan. This is Varric, Isabela, and the log over there is Anders.”

“Mmwha?” Anders asked sleepily, blinking his eyes open. “Hello elf. Are you one of the Dalish who hates humans or are you a nice one?”

“Oh, I don’t have a problem with shemlen,” Merrill assured. “I saw Hawke summoning a spirit to ask where to find water and introduced myself. What are you all doing out here, and by that terrible cave? The spirits always tell me to stay away from it.”

“We just came out of that terrible cave, and I can tell you you’ve made the right decision staying away from it so far.” Anders said, sitting up. “Is that food?”

Isabela proudly held up some sort of rodent by its long tail. It would be a stretch to feed five - six? - from it, but they still had a little bread to supplement it. “And we can cook it as soon as one of you mages starts the fire.”

“How did you know I was a mage?” Merrill fretted, as Anders said, “I can do that.”

The others turned to stare at Merrill. She smiled uncertainly.

“Well, I didn’t,” Isabela said slowly, “But you’ve told me now. I was talking to Anders or Hawke, both of whom are mages.”

“Oh dear, I’m not very good at this subtext thing with the trade tongue,” Merrill bit her lip. “It’s different in Dalish, you see. I miss so much. It’s why I didn’t go to Kirkwall when I left my clan, I’d have been useless and I wouldn’t know anyone in the city, and you always hear such awful things about slavers and elves….”

An uncomfortable silence fell as Anders, Isabela, and Varric all tried really hard not to look at Hawke or Fenris. Fenris sighed noisily.

“Probably a good idea,” he told her. “You are far too trusting and would be captured by slavers or Templars quickly.”

“Right,” Merrill said, nodding. “But I’m interrupting your dinner! I have some berries and things to eat in my bag, if you want to share?”

“Berries?” Hawke asked, suddenly much warmer. “Sit, sit. Anders, how is that fire not started yet?”

“Kindling!” Anders returned, flicking hot sparks off his fingers. “It’s so wet.”

“That’s what he said,” Isabela said, and then broke down into cackling.

“Was that a joke? I didn’t get it. Was it dirty?” Merrill looked around the circle in confusion, her brows furrowed.

“You didn’t get it because it wasn’t funny,” Fenris told her over Hawke’s bubble of laughter. “Except to children and, apparently, these two.”

“Execution and timing was alright but the content needs work, not very original. Five out of ten,” Varric critiqued, to booing from Isabela and Hawke.

Anders, meanwhile, had finally gotten the fire to take. “Is there a skewer we can cook this thing on? Also, should it really still have its fur?”

Merrill watched them start to shift eyes at each other, everyone waiting for someone else to volunteer. Finally she offered, “I can butcher it? And that stick over there should be fine to cook it on.”

“Excellent!” Hawke grinned. “Step it up, Anders, you’re the only one not contributing here.”

Anders pointed in wordless outrage at the fire.

“I could have done it faster with a stick,” Fenris snorted.

Anders threw up his hands. “What is this, pick on the healer day?”

“Pick on the abomination, maybe,” Fenris muttered nastily, still not feeling favorably towards Anders after his comments about mage slavery being equatable to slavery in the Imperium.

“Abomination?” Merrill blinked, looking up as she ripped the creature’s skin off inside-out in one smooth motion.

“I am not an abomination!” Anders shouted at Fenris, glowing blue at the eyes and rather disproving his own point.

“How nice!” Merrill declared, clapping her bloody hands together delightedly.

Anders’ anger faltered as he turned to look at the strange elf. “Uh, what?”

“I assume the possession must be willing?” Merrill asked, “Because you don’t look deformed like they say most abominations are. Which spirit is it? I hope not rage, you seem angry enough already….”

“He’s a spirit of justice,” Anders said, “I knew him before when he possessed a corpse, and I agreed to be his host to save his life.”

“That’s just wonderful,” Merrill said with none of the sarcasm those words usually entailed. “I talk to spirits all the time, you know. The young ones don’t have much to say, and the demons can be quite single-minded, but overall I don’t think they’re nearly as terrible as people say they are. Mostly they just want the connection to our world, you know?”

Anders was silent for a moment, watching Merrill gut and spit the carcass. “Justice never wanted to be in our world. He was pulled through and trapped here. I couldn’t just… let him die like that.”

“It was very brave,” Merrill propped her stick above the fire, letting it begin cooking. “I don’t know if I’d have had the courage to do the same. To share your body like that seems very personal.”

“No one should do it,” Fenris broke in.

Anders snapped, “Yes, we know your opinion.”

“No, Anders, no one should do it.” Hawke said, softening his tone. “Spirits can’t interact with our world for long without changing, usually into something worse. They can only focus on one thing to the exclusion of all else; it’s in their nature. Justice’s nature is one of righting wrongs, but if it becomes too focused on consequences for wrongdoers then it becomes Vengeance or Retribution. Justice denied becomes Despair or Rage, and Justice with no cause is Punishment. These are things they should have been teaching in the southern Circles, the way they are taught in the north.”

“He’s still Justice,” Anders said stubbornly. “He’s just like I knew him before.”

“But you’re not like you were,” Isabela said softly. She and Varric had been sitting so quietly on the other side of the fire that they were almost forgotten. “I knew you before him, remember? You were different.”

“I didn’t care about anything but myself, you mean,” Anders’ lip curled up. “I was self-centered and focused only on my own pleasure and freedom.”

Hawke shrugged. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m sorry,” Merrill said to Varric, “I think I’ve started a fight.”

Varric sipped water from his canteen and said, “Girl, you’ve been as sweet as daisies so far. It wasn’t you; they’ve been building up to this one for a while.”

“Who are you people?” Merrill asked, a little desperately. She’d been trying to figure it out without asking, but that wasn’t looking likely. They certainly weren’t travelers, with no goods or tents.

“Deep Roads expedition went really wrong. My bastard of a brother locked us in an old thaig so he could keep the loot for himself, we came out this back way. We were the clearing team, went ahead of the others to clean out all the nasty things. I’m Varric Tethras, businessman, writer, and occaisional rogue, that’s Isabela the pirate - ”

“Queen! Pirate queen!”

“ - The pirate queen, Anders the abomination-slash-healer-slash-Mage-Warden, and Hawke and Fenris.”

“And Hawke is… a magister?”

“Oh, caught that did you?” Varric didn’t sound pleased that she had. “Yeah, genuine Tevinter magister, as he’ll tell you and any half-sober yokel who asks. And Fenris is his slave.”

Merrill’s ever-present smile turned a little nervous, edgy. “Ah. I thought he might be from another Dalish clan, but… he’s a slave.” Merrill looked over at them again.

Anders and Hawke had stopped arguing, coming to some kind of accord if only for the peace of the camp. Anders had laid back down and turned his back to the fire and everyone else, the only thing visible of him his broad shoulders hiked up defensively. Hawke was sitting in front of the fire, his legs spread before him and Fenris sitting in between them. There was a strange hairless creature on Fenris’ lap, and Hawke was laid against Fenris’ back with his chin on his shoulder so that they could both pet it and feed it the berries from Merrill’s pack.

She looked back to Varric uncertainly. “...Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Varric drank again, staring wistfully at the water when he brought it down, wishing they’d had any of the rum on them when Bartrand locked the door.

Hawke had tilted Fenris’ head back a little more and was kissing him thoroughly, with tongue. Varric watched Anders’ shoulders rise higher, like he was trying to block out his ears, and then he saw Hawke’s hand rubbing lazily at Fenris’ stomach, dipping a little too low.

He picked up a pebble and bounced it off of Hawke’s dark hair, breaking the two of them up.

“Hey!” said Hawke, a little annoyed.

“Hey!” said Isabela, very annoyed. “I was watching that!”

“Don’t make me throw cold water on you two,” Varric warned, waving his canteen so the water sloshed threateningly. “If you wanna get up to that sort of thing, you can do it when Blondie and Daisy here aren’t around.”

Hawke pouted for a moment, and then realized, “Hey, you didn’t say anything about yourself….”

Varric shrugged. “Well, I have to make sure I get all the details right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lotta theory in here, given through character voices. Characters say what they know, not what may actually be true! Also I will fudge canon where I want to make stuff easier for myself :D


	19. more magical arguing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit this is all one scene. little shorter than last time, but it stands alone

“That’s the coast ahead,” Merrill told them, her head turned to listen for the distant sound of waves. “We should reach Kirkwall by tonight, then! We’ve made such good time.”

“Wouldn’t have made it nearly as quickly without our guide,” Hawke told her with a wink.

Merrill flushed and then looked confused. Hawke was fairly certain she didn’t know if he was flirting or if this was all weird human customs. It didn’t help that Isabela was also flirting with her.

“Bet you ten silver I can get there first,” Isabela muttered to him when Merrill had moved ahead on the trail.

“That’s crass,” Hawke chided. “Twenty silver, and if Fenris can get her before us it counts for me.”

“Tchk! Unfair odds.” She turned around to look at Fenris pacing easily behind them. He looked back with an apathetic derision. “Then again, he’s got no chance. You’re on, magister.”

Hawke told her, “You underestimate the draw of elf to elf.”

“That’s the Imperium, master,” Fenris chimed in. “It’s different there. She’s Dalish, we’re not really the same kind of elf.”

“Not being helpful, Fenris,” Hawke sang back.

“So you sticking around in Kirkwall after this?” Varric asked Merrill.

“Well, I don’t really like living alone out here,” Merrill chewed on her bottom lip for a moment.

“I could see about helping you out in the alienage,” Varric offered. “And I know Hawke’s got some connection there, his housekeeper’s an elf from the alienage.”

“It’s not really safe for mages in the city, but if you’ve got people looking out for you it’s a big help,” said Anders.

“What about you and Hawke?”

Anders laughed. “Hawke’s got some kind of legal Tevinter protection, and when the Templars come knocking I’m a Mage-Warden and they can’t do shit about me. At least, that’s as far as they know.”

“Are you not really a Warden, then?”

“I am, but, uh, my commander doesn’t exactly know where I’m at. She… probably thinks I’m dead.”

Varric nodded. “You should definitely get her protection back, Blondie.”

“I’m doing fine.”

Varric’s mouth twisted but he let it go. “Either way, Daisy, we’ll look out for you.”

“Talking about moving into Kirkwall?” Hawke called up, quickening his pace to join them. “The view is okay and the people have been good, but the smell leaves something to be desired, at least in Lowtown and Darktown.”

“We can probably get her set up easily in the alienage, right Hawke?” Varric suggested. “Between my connections and any Arianni still has.”

“Alienage? Why risk it? You’re a mage, I can claim you’re my apprentice same as I do for Feynriel - well, I would if he was stupid enough to get caught. Same situation for you. Magisters have lots of apprentices, you know, especially research-specialized ones like me. We get to claim anything an apprentice discovers as our own work, although Aureus was at least kind enough to leave my name on most of what he claimed.”

“Thank… you?” Merrill tried, blinking.

“Oh, that means you’d live in my house. I missed that point, didn’t I? Let’s see, that would make me, Feynriel, and you… hey, if Anders moves in I can apply to start my own Circle! I wouldn’t, of course, but it only takes four people living in a district in the Imperium.”

“Moving a little fast, aren’t you Hawke?” Varric laughed. “You just met her and want her to move in? Are you trying to start an elf harem?”

Merrill looked frightened at the idea, stepping nervously away from Hawke.

“Varric, no,” Hawke groaned. “Look, you’re scaring her - Merrill, I only meant it as a safer place to stay than the alienage, promise.”

Anders kept his head down, realizing that Hawke had probably been joking about living with him.

“You’re my friend now, I take care of my people. I’d offer the same to Varric or Isabela or Anders if they needed it.”

_If they needed it_ being the operative words in Anders’ case. He had his own place, underground as it was, and with the money he’d earned he would be able to fix it up a little more. Get a real bed, even if he didn’t sleep that often….

“That would probably be much easier than finding you a place in the alienage, they’re a bit crowded there,” Varric said.

“I suppose if it’s not imposing,” Merrill looked between them, making sure. “That would be wonderful. Oh, you people are so nice - I don’t know why some of the clan hated shemlen so much, you seem very nice so far.”

“Oh, there are some bad eggs in the lot, Daisy. You just met the right people.”

They reached the coast then, a cliff dropping away in front of them straight into the sea.

“We just follow this west until we reach Kirkwall,” Merrill said.

“You won’t be going that far, knife-ear,” a voice growled. “Drop your bags and weapons and step away from them. Don’t be stupid, now.”

Hawke turned slowly. Their group had all caught up to each other at the cliff, grouped on the edge with nowhere to go when the twenty-odd men closed in and circled around. They were poorly outfitted, no piece of armor matching another, with old iron weapons and only a few helmets between them.

“You want to rethink this one, boys,” Hawke warned, bringing his staff around in front to show them.

One in the front called, “They got a mage!”

“There’s more of us than them,” said someone else.

“Shut up,” their leader snapped. “We take their valuables, kill the mage, and sell the rest. Surrender now and you won’t be hurt… much.”

“You just said you’d be killing me,” Hawke pointed out. “And it’s illegal for slavers to operate in this region, or by kidnapping and coercion.”

The leader squinted at Hawke. “You a ‘Vint? I know that accent.”

Hawke bowed, his staff sweeping out to the side with the motion. “Magister Garrett Hawke, in the flesh.” As he rose from his bow, staff sweeping back in, he cast a cone of cold along the motion of the arc and followed it up with a mass paralysis. “Kill them all.”

It was a short bloodbath, but memorable. It was the first time Hawke had seen the earth itself come to his aide, roots and vines growing up to seize the slavers’ ankles and hold them still for Fenris to cleave through or Isabela to stab them in the neck. When it was over - a very short time later - Hawke turned to congratulate Merrill and found her wrapping her wrist in a bandage.

He frowned, going over to her. He didn’t think any of them had gotten to move so much as a step, between his magic and Merrill’s, but they had had archers - 

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked, gesturing at the wound. “We have a… healer….”

Hawke trailed off, his gaze fixated on the bloody knife at her hip. No one had gotten close enough for her to need to stab them.

“Blood mage?”

The others stopped in their tracks, even Isabela looting the bodies. She slowly stood up from a her crouch, watching Merrill carefully.

“Well… yes.” Merrill confirmed in a tiny voice. “It’s… I know it’s… please don’t…”

Her eyes filled with tears and she sniffled, losing track of her words for a moment.

“Please don’t hate me,” she begged quietly. “My clan hated me for it. My Keeper warned me, she warned me all the time, but I can’t help it. It comes so easy ever since the demon taught me. I need it to - to fix something, and it’s really not that bad! I don’t use anyone else’s blood ever, just my own. Please don’t… I’ll go, you don’t have to make me leave.”

“Daisy,” Varric said softly, catching her elbow as she passed him.

She sniffled again but paused, her face turned down.

“She’s a blood mage, Varric,” Hawke said coldly.

“Get over yourself, magister,” Varric snapped. “She’s the same person she was before, you just know a little more about her ‘magic specialization’ now.”

"That isn't what blood magic is!" Hawke exclaimed. "It's not just a talent. It's demon-gifted, it saps the will and weakens the mind. First it seems harmless and then its small steps downward, I'll only take from myself, I'll only take from the willing, I'll only take from slaves, _I deserve this and I'll take everything I can_."

"I have never used anyone's blood but my own!" Merrill shouted, vines writhing around her feet again. "I would never!"

"You say that now. Wait until something you care about is in trouble; you won't be able to control yourself. Wait a few years, until people start looking less like people and more like walking sources of power for you to use. It always happens to blood mages. It is inevitable."

"I didn't learn it for power, I wanted to fix the mirror and bring back some of the history of my people," Merrill cried. "I don't care about the power, I don't need it, I just want to _know_!"

"It doesn't take blood magic to make someone a monster like that," Isabela pointed out, moving over to put her hand on Merrill's shoulder. "And you keep slaves yourself, Hawke. No one here likes that, but we know you and we know that you aren't a bad person."

Hawke's jaw clenched, his lips thinning into a tight line.

Merrill flicked a glance at him, saw this, and murmured more calmly now, "It's fine. You don't have to argue because of me. I'll just leave."

"No."

Merrill's head jerked up. There was resignation, determination in that one word.

"You're coming to Kirkwall. Clearly I can't change your mind, if you left your clan for this, and we'll see if what you say is true. If you're different, if you can _resist_." Hawke snarled at the end, disbelieving.

"I can prove you wrong," Merrill said. "I'd never use people for power. I just want to know, so I can talk to the spirits and the demons who still know things everyone else forgot, or got lost."

"Some things were lost for a reason," Hawke looked at Fenris for a moment, his lyrium markings, the old elvhen rituals that had made them.

Fenris was watching Merrill without seeming to, like he had done with magisters and masters back in the Imperium. Hawke hadn't seen that caution in a while; there was no need for it in the south, no expectation of constant subservience.

"Let's get moving. These bodies are starting to smell."

Merrill lagged at the back of the line with Varric, talking softly.

"Did blood mages hurt Hawke before?" she asked Varric. "He seems to hate it very much."

"Don't know, Daisy, but given the amount of blood mages in Tevinter I'd say it's good odds. Don't worry about it, we can bring him around. Like Bela said, we ignore that weird thing he's got with Fenris. He owes us some faith. And don't worry about Kirkwall, you can stay at the Hanged Man while we look for a place in the alienage for you."

"She's still living in my house," Hawke corrected without turning around, speaking loudly to be heard. "If I'm letting an inexperienced blood mage loose in my city, it will at least be happening where I can keep an eye on her."

Fenris nudged Hawke and quietly reminded, "Feynriel."

"Oh, and I've got an apprentice from the alienage living with me. You don't tell him you're a blood mage, you don't do blood magic in front of him, and if he asks you know nothing about it. Don't summon anything without telling me about it."

"You don't have to," Varric argued, shooting another glare at Hawke. "If you want to live by yourself, I can still set you up in the alienage. You're not a _slave_."

Hawke turned around and walked backwards for a few steps, glaring back. Then he closed his eyes and sighed, some of the tension draining out of him. "He's right. You don't have to do as I say, I apologize."

"No, I should live with Hawke," Merrill said slowly. "Even my Keeper was scared for me... someone should watch me. I think I will be fine, but if I'm wrong...."

Hawke's brow furrowed but he nodded, some small approval crossing his features. He turned back around in time to avoid stumbling over a rut in the path.

"Do you think this means they'll get off my back about Justice?" Anders whispered to Isabela, a little too loudly to pass unnoticed.

"Hope so. Getting real tired of arguing magey stuff," Isabela pouted. "It's not fun, I don't understand it half the time, and no one resolves the fighting with clothes-ripping and sexy times."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke being a dick and kind of a hypocrite in a couple different ways, but at least he realized it a little. Let me tell you, this Hawke hates blood magic so much I had trouble figuring out how to get him to accept it - like in canon, you find out about Merrill like 10 seconds after meeting her, and the PC is just chill with it for plot reasons. I had to introduce Hawke to her for a few days in advance, get to know her, and he still almost said fuck it get out.
> 
> All that in one big scene, whoo! Didn't mean to, but it poured out.


	20. elf tales

It was a tensely silent group that returned to Kirkwall at dusk, catching the eye of every guard on the gate with their strange company.

“See you at Grace in a couple days?” Varric said as they made their goodbyes, the group splitting off in three directions. “Not sooner, though. I’m tired of your faces.”

“Who could ever be tired of this face?” Hawke demanded, stroking his beard. “But you’re right, and I’ll see you on game night. I’ll take some of your loot!”

Varric snorted. “Fenris, maybe. Not you, serah card-burner. I don’t want to lose any more decks to your magic tricks.”

“It’s always the Angels that get burned,” Hawke said thoughtfully. “Or else you could just combine two incomplete decks, but it’s always the same suite somehow. Maybe something in the formation of the ink, like a rune… well, who knows. See you later, Varric, Bela.”

“Coming back with me? I do like that electricity trick.” Isabela asked Anders, trailing a finger down the front of his robes. She lowered her voice and leaned in to add, “Maybe we can get you over that unfortunate crush….”

Anders pushed her hand back at her gently and said, “No, now that we’re back in Kirkwall I have a clinic to run. Can’t afford the distraction.”

Isabela’s mouth thinned, instead of her usual pout when someone turned her down. “You are different since Justice, you know.”

Tiredly, “Please don’t.”

“Just an observation, love,” she said, standing up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Anders, want to get back to Darktown through my basement?” Hawke asked, tilting his head towards Hightown. “Little slower, but probably safer.”

“Yeah, I should,” Anders nodded. “I’ve been away a few weeks, the thieves might have forgot that I’m their healer.”

They were greeted at the door of Hawke’s estate by Aveline, waiting with her arms folded in full guard regalia.

Hawke paused, brow furrowing. “Is something wrong?”

She met his gaze. “Templars tried to search the house while you were gone.”

“Andraste’s flaming tits. Did you stop them? Catch them at it?”

“Caught them as they were trying to pick the lock; thankfully the Templars don’t teach any rogue tricks, because they took so long that one of your neighbors called the guard. They didn’t get in, but your servants fled into that little hidey-hole and I had to go get them out and tell them it was safe again. I’ve had a guard posted here since. I put the Templars in holding for a night before one of the Order came and got them out. Meredith said she didn’t order it, and that they’d be punished.”

“Thank you, Aveline,” Hawke reached out and wrapped one arm around her shoulders in half a hug. She let it happen rather stiffly, sensing genuine gratitude instead of Hawke’s usual flirting. “Truly. There isn’t anything illegal in there, but I still value my privacy. If you need help, you know you can call on me as well.”

Aveline coughed uncomfortably. “Yes, well, you’ve helped me a bit. You’re welcome, Hawke. Now that you’re back, I can free up this post at least. See you around.”

“That’s a little concerning,” Hawke muttered to Fenris as she left. “We’ll have to ask Thrask or Cullen to look into where that order came from, if it wasn’t Meredith herself. She might be lying or omitting something.”

“Is it still safe here?” Merrill asked, shivering as night fell.

“Safe enough. Our locks are good, and we have people looking out for us. Let’s get you set up in one of the rooms. Anders… actually, you don’t have a real bed in your clinic, right? Stay the night here. It’s late already.”

“I…” Anders looked about to deny it, but Hawke had led them inside and opened a door into a warm, dark room with a large bed dominating the middle of it. “...Alright. Thank you, Hawke.”

“And you’re right down there, Merrill,” Hawke waved one door down the hall. “The bathroom’s shared between those two, so lock it when you go in. Good night.”

Hawke was exhausted after the day, arguing with his friends and then struggling to accept that a blood mage could be as innocent as Merrill seemed to be. In his rooms, he stood still and let Fenris undress him, sitting down on the bed when it was time for his boots and pants to come off.

Fenris rose from his crouch at Hawke’s feet, only to be pulled into an embrace on Hawke’s lap halfway up. Hawke sighed into his hair contentedly. Slowly, one of Fenris’ hands moved towards Hawke’s groin.

“Mm-mm,” Hawke hummed, stopping Fenris. “Too tired tonight. Get the rest of your armor off and let’s go to sleep.”

“I can’t do that if you’re holding me, master,” Fenris pointed out.

Hawke groaned but released him, flopping back on the bed and rolling until he could get under the covers. Fenris quickly had his armor on its stand, down to his smallclothes, and crawled back into the bed and under Hawke’s arm.

“Another damn blood mage,” Hawke murmured. “A blood mage and an abomination. It always seems to happen to me, doesn’t it?”

“You attract strange friends, master.”

Hawke was silent for a long while, drifting but unable to actually sleep. One eye cracked back open. “Fenris.”

Fenris grunted, barely conscious.

“If she tries anything on you, you can kill her.”

“I know, master. Thank you.”

* * *

Anders was gone in the morning, which Arianni was grateful for.

“I really don’t have much left to make for breakfast,” she told Fenris as they both carried the spread from the kitchens to the table. “We had no idea when Messere Hawke would be getting back… I’m glad you’ve returned safely.”

“I am too,” Fenris said, smiling. “It was in question a couple of times. We were betrayed in the Deep Roads and had to find another way out.”

Arianni shivered. “That sounds awful. I’d hate to be underground for days like that, I don’t know how the dwarves do it.”

“Yes, it seems to take a certain type.”

“Oh! Thank you, Fenris. I was just wondering how I’d get breakfast…” Merrill met them in the dining room, where she had apparently been wandering around.

“I can give you the tour after breakfast,” Arianni offered, after eyeing Fenris and realizing that he wasn’t going to. “I usually serve it in here at this hour, everyone eats together or when they can get up. This is my son, Feynriel.”

Feynriel wandered in from the servants’ entrance behind them, straight from his room going by the yawning and eye-rubbing.

“I’ll go get master up,” Fenris said with a sigh.

Merrill watched him leave, then turned back to Arianni with a bright smile. “So Feynriel is Hawke’s apprentice?”

Arianni nodded. “Yes, Messere Hawke is helping him learn to control his magic better and defend himself from the demons in his dreams. I will admit, I’m glad he has returned… Feynriel has not been doing well.”

“Mother!” Feynriel whined, shooting his mother a betrayed look. “You don’t have to tell her!”

“I remember when I was first learning magic,” Merrill shared, her gaze going distant. “After my manifestation, my Keeper took me into her aravel and started me on the smallest fire spell, barely sparks… she wouldn’t let me move on until I could make the sparks dance. What has Hawke been teaching you? Can you show me?”

Feynriel puffed up and blushed at the same time. “Hawke taught me a few spells, we’re working on control and some theory, but I figured this one out by myself,” he cupped his hands together and a thick mist formed between them. When his hands pushed it up and apart, it rose up into a simplified model of a tree.

“It’s the vhenadahl,” Fenyriel said proudly. “The tree in the middle of the alienage. Have you seen it?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure you got it perfect.” Merrill smiled sweetly at the boy and he flushed again, ducking his head with a grin of his own.

Arianni pressed her lips together to keep the amusement off her face. The crush was instant and obvious, at least to her. She’d have to make sure Merrill didn’t accidentally encourage it, but she seemed harmless and Hawke surely wouldn’t invite danger to live in his house.

“Arianni!” Hawke exclaimed in greeting as he came into the dining room, sweeping her up into a bear-hug. “Glad you’re alright, I heard about the scare with the Templars. Good morning, Merrill, I see you’ve met my apprentice.”

They all sat around the table, passing breakfast dishes back and forth. As Hawke handed Arianni the eggs, he held on to the plate a moment to get her attention and said more quietly, “I’ll need to talk to you in my study after breakfast. Don’t worry; nothing bad.”

Arianni nodded uncertainly, and Hawke had the conversation turned cheerfully back to everyone’s plans for the day.

* * *

"Which clan was yours, Merrill?" Arianni didn't ask why she wasn't with them anymore. After Hawke's brief explanation of Merrill's circumstances - and heartfelt promise to protect Feynriel from the invited danger - it was clear that Merrill's clan had rejected her blood magic.

"Sabrae, with Keeper Marethari, did you ever meet them at Arlathvhen? What was your clan, why did you leave? Oh, I'm sorry... that's probably rude to ask, isn't it?"

"Not... rude..." Arianni managed, stunned. Was Merrill lying? "My clan was Sabrae as well, but I only left around thirteen years ago and I don't remember you."

"Well, I was Alerion first," Merrill's mouth twisted, thinking how different her life could have been if she hadn't joined another clan. She would have no mirror shard, no chance to learn more of their people's history. She would still have her clan. "But you know what they say about Alerion, always making more mages than they know what to do with. I was given to Sabrae at Arlathvhen when I was younger. I suppose after you'd already left. Do you remember Paivel?"

"Paivel!" Arianni laughed to hear the familiar name. "He was like my older brother, he got me out of so much trouble when I was young. He is still the story-teller, right? He is healthy?"

Merrill nodded. "Getting on in years, and losing Mahariel did him no good favors, but he was fine last time I saw him. He liked to complain about his knees to get the children to sit and listen, so he wouldn't have to chase after them."

"He was always a little devious," Arianni agreed with a grin. "But... Mahariel was lost? What happened? Last I knew him, he was a quiet little thing running around in Tamlen's shadow."

Merrill grimaced. "He and Tamlen never stopped running around, I suppose. They were out hunting and found this... mirror. It's old elvish magic, perverted by the Tevinters and the Blight, and they released some poison magic that killed them both. We only found Mahariel's body, we had to assume Tamlen was... he would never have left Mahariel there."

"That is awful to lose two young ones like that," Arianni said, thinking of Feynriel. He'd be no safer with the Dalish, she had known that, but it was still reassuring to hear that her choices hadn't doomed him.

"I took a piece of the mirror," Merrill whispered, barely daring to let the words out. But it wasn't up to Arianni to kick her out, was it? And maybe she would understand. "And there was this demon trapped up on Sundermount who told me about it, about it being elvish first, how to cure it of its taint. That's why the clan kicked me out, because I was trying to take back a piece of our history with methods they didn't like."

"I know about the... magic, Merrill." Arianni said it delicately, avoiding the exact word. "Hawke told me."

Hopefully, "You don't mind?"

Arianni shook her head. "I do mind, but you aren't my daughter and I can't tell you what to do. I can only protect my son. Please, Merrill, be careful."

"I'm always careful with demons," Merrill nodded, "I know they're not like people. But I don't think they're as bad as everyone says. They just think about things differently, like Deria?"

"I remember Deria! She was so slow to learn most things, but she was the best hunter in the clan even as a child. Is she still with them?"

As Merrill talked about people she hadn't seen in years, people she was finding she still dearly missed, Arianni found new hope that Feynriel would be alright. With a First and a Tevinter magister to train him, surely that was enough to keep him safe.

* * *

"You wanted to tan, master, remember?" Fenris muttered as Hawke manipulated the lift controls to get down to Darktown.

"Later, Fenris," Hawke insisted. "Anders left the house so fast this morning I might decide to be offended about it. I want to make sure he's okay.... We were a little hard on him, for things he obviously didn't know about because they don't teach anything in the south, apparently."

“He’s an ass,” Fenris stated, “With some damaging illusions about both his reality and others.”

Hawke asked mildly, “Are we competing in the ‘who’s suffered more’ arena again? I thought you were over that.”

Fenris was silent, looking away. After a moment, he muttered, “He’s childish and doesn’t understand consequences.”

Hawke sighed something about Anders being much like someone else in that regard, which Fenris chose not to hear. They had arrived at the clinic, its lantern lit cheerily above an open door in the roaring room beyond.

The clinic was busy, over two dozen people against the walls and gathered in groups on the floor waiting to see Kirkwall’s only free healer. In the exam room beyond, Anders was peering down a young boy’s throat as his father hovered fretfully from the other side of the cot.

“Has he been eating anything different lately?” Anders asked, crooking his finger to summon the little light-wisp back out of the boy’s throat. “Close up there, kiddo, you’re all done.”

The man frowned in though. “My new girlfriend likes to cook with spices, which we’ve never had before… is that it? It’s just an allergy?”

“Not a severe one right now, but he’s not sick. Take a little of each spice and test it on his lip to figure out which one is affecting him, and throw it out. If it keeps happening after that, come back.”

“Thank you, ser,” the man said fervently. “Thank you so much. Come, Toren, let’s let him move on.”

“Thanks healer!” Toren exclaimed, grinning at Anders.

“Next up, Amber!” Anders shouted without looking, going over to his supply cabinets. “Amber?”

“Hawke’s back, Anders,” Amber said from behind him. She was glaring at Hawke and Fenris. “If he’s come to take you away again, he can just wait his turn, there is far too much to do here. Also, Rox and Silla are back with the food and herbs you wanted.”

“Have them sort the herbs into their spots and put the food out for the people waiting,” Anders ordered distractedly. “Hawke? You need something already?”

“Just checking in after you fled my house this morning,” Hawke said, accusing in his words if not his tone. “Everything alright down here? Looks like they missed you.”

“A king’s welcome, isn’t it? I think they’re putting my tithes in one of these corners or another - not that one, that one has a leak.”

“We have to pay now?” the next woman asked, looking nervously at Hawke as Amber brought her in.

“A joke, Lynette,” Anders reassured her. “The usual?”

Lynette nodded, and Anders’ hands began glowing as he ran them over her sides from shoulders to knees.

“Though I think I should start charging Lusine, given how many of her people come in here,” Anders mumbled as he worked.

“We can pay you,” Lynette offered. “Not much, but we should take up a collection, since you won’t let us pay you back another way.”

Anders laughed, “Not even Warden stamina is good enough to keep up with all the people who offer to pay me like that. You’re done Lynette - nothing terminal, but there were some parasites from the last day or so.”

“Knew he was lying,” she grimaced. “He scratched his jewels _while_ he was looking at me. But the money’s always good.”

“Let him know, hopefully I’ll see him in here soon. I’m fine, Hawke, as you can see.”

“Working a little hard for having just got back,” Hawke corrected, “But you do seem fine. Did you even have a chance to buy your nice fluffy bed before you opened the doors?”

“No time,” Anders answered quickly, “Amber, next please! And I shouldn’t spend so much on myself anyway, I hardly sleep as it is. I could better spend the money on medicine and food for these people. Half of them, their problems stem from not eating anything but what they can catch in the sewers. Thank you, Amber.”

“Earaches on this one, healer,” Amber told him.

“When did he open his clinic today?” Hawke asked Amber before she could leave again.

She looked him up and down before deciding to answer. “Before sunrise this morning, serah. I just came to help when I saw the light was on, it was already filling up.”

“Has he eaten since then?”

Amber frowned. “No, I haven’t seen him eat. Maybe before I got here.”

Hawke looked around the little exam room, the cluttered counter on one wall and the extra cot shoved against the other. No detritus of food, no sign that Anders had eaten anything.

“I’m going to go get him some lunch,” Hawke said slowly. “And when I get back, he’s on break until he’s eaten it.”

Amber nodded, some respect entering her expression. “That sounds alright to me. I can hold them off for an hour.”

“Good.”

* * *

“And this is where you’ll sleep for at least four hours every night,” Hawke said, showing Anders the room that connected straight to the Darktown passage. “Don’t worry about running into Karl, I gave him a nice workshop up on the second floor.”

“I’m not moving in,” Anders protested again.

“You passed out over the sandwich I brought you,” Hawke reminded him. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a patient.”

“You interrupted my flow! I’m fine if I don’t slow down like that.”

“You’ll be even better if you have some rest and food under your belt,” Hawke countered.

“I’m not a child,” Anders grumbled, like a child.

Hawke sighed. “Look, I understand that Wardens and abominations need less than the average person to live on. That’s wonderful. But you’re wasting away, I know you can see that if you look with a healer’s eyes. We came back from the Deep Roads half-starved, but you looked just the same as always. I know that Justice demands a lot from you - too much, if you ask me, but you didn’t - but surely you can justify taking care of yourself so that you have more to devote to your cause.”

“His last body was a corpse,” Anders told Hawke. “I think… he hasn’t really adapted to thinking about a body’s needs. He’s never had to before.”

“Well now he has to, and he will.” Hawke let a little of his fear miasma seep into the air, just enough to make Anders’ heart beat faster. “Or I will devote every one of my considerable resources to figuring out how to separate you two.”

“You can’t separate us,” Anders said uncertainly. “We’re blended together. Sometimes even I can’t tell what’s him and what’s me.”

Hawke murmured, “That’s what seems to be the problem.”

* * *

After he’d moved Anders in, checked on Merrill - still gossiping with Arianni about the Dalish, somehow - and promised Feynriel a return to lessons the next day, it was dinnertime and Hawke realized he had to see Varric before the promised Wicked Grace night.

“Figured you’d be by,” Varric said, stepping to the side to allow Fenris and Hawke through his door. “Don’t seem like the type to let a betrayal slide.”

“You aren’t either, I hope,” Hawke said, sitting down at Varric’s table. It was already covered in papers, some filled with writing, pages of Varric’s next book, and some with sparser notes. “Even if he is your brother.”

“No, Bartrand went too far this time,” Varric grunted. “I just… don’t get me wrong here, but I hope it was that Maker-damned red lyrium idol. You held it, you remember what it did.”

“It sang,” Hawke murmured, his gaze turning distant. “A strange sound… I could hear it forever and not get tired of it, but it hurt at the same time. I can’t even imagine what it sounded like, just how it felt.”

Fenris spoke up, “You said it used to be a slave.”

Hawke and Varric both looked over to him, startled that Fenris had spoken up. He was leaning against the wall behind Hawke, his arms folded. He didn’t look comfortable being the center of attention.

“When you first picked it up and were holding it. I wasn’t paying attention, but I remembered I heard you. You said ‘It used to be a slave’.”

“I don’t….” Hawke dropped his forehead onto the heel of his hand, grinding it in with his eyes closed. “Was it screaming?”

That starving, pleading figure rose up in his mind’s eye as clearly as if it was back in his hands. Yes, that could easily have been a slave.

“It was important, it was doing something important. It was serving its purpose, a source of power… it was proud. And screaming furious.”

“Magister statues,” Fenris reminded.

“Some lost ancient blood magic ritual,” Hawke said into his hands. “Something that required a willing human sacrifice, as all good ones do. A slave. Mixed with lyrium, whatever that red lyrium is, whispering to me. That’s what I heard, isn’t it? That’s what Bartrand would have heard.”

“What it almost did to you,” Varric said into the silence after, “It succeeded in doing to my brother. He’s an asshole, but he doesn’t deserve to be driven mad by some old Tevinter artifact. We have to track him down.”

“If it will let him sell it, he might try to go to the Imperium,” Hawke offered, still not looking up. “I’ll write to my contacts up there, have them keep an eye out.”

“What did it want from you?” Varric asked, curious. “You said it was… talking?”

Hawke snorted, hands pressing his temples now as he remembered things he’d been trying not to think about. “Screaming, I think. It was a slave, though. It knows better than to _want_ anything; it offered power, made itself important, made me feel… paranoid. Like everyone else was turning against me, jealous of the power or trying to steal it. I don’t like losing control of myself like that.”

“We’re damn dwarves,” Varric muttered. “We should have more resistance to stuff like that. It didn’t affect me at all - felt creepy, but that’s it. And Fenris got close, but he didn’t turn crazy. Why you and Bartrand?”

“If it offers power,” Fenris said, “I do not need it and you do not seem to want it. The idol had nothing to hold onto.”

“Bartrand’s always been more interested in money than power. Well, not that money doesn’t bring power, but - you get it.”

“So he’ll sell it,” Hawke concluded. “You have people who can watch for that, right?”

“Oh,” Varric’s tone was grave. “They’re watching. Can’t take their eyes off this mountain-slide of shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was painful to write. Had to basically pull this out of my ass over the last few days, tell me if the pacing is so wrong it gave you a new form of cancer. I'm tired of looking at it.
> 
> I also didn't proofread this one nearly as well as I usually try to do, so please point out any mistakes. For instance, during the Deep Roads chapters I typed Bartrand as Bartard nearly every damn time for some reason, and only caught it in proofreading. So let me know.


	21. worthy

“Another message from the Viscount,” Fenris reported, handing the page off to Hawke. He’d intercepted Arianni with the mail on the way back from his morning run and was sorting through it for the important things. “And a letter from your brother. Is Carver talking to you again?”

Hawke snorted. “It’s been three years, but he _can_ hold a grudge. Maybe he’s finally forgiven me for leaving.”

“Or he’s come crawling back for help with something,” Fenris growled. “He is ungrateful to you, master.”

Shrugging, Hawke said, “He’s never liked being the only non-mage child, what it made him. I know why he’s like that, and I can’t blame him.”

“He’s not a slave.”

“But he _could_ be one, and he never really got over the idea that his freedom lies in my hands, not his.”

“It is in good hands, at least,” Fenris said, smiling a little at Hawke.

“I like to think so too,” Hawke grinned back, pushing away the memory of betting his mother and brother’s freedom on his ability to kill a powerful magister. “Let’s see what Dumar wants this time.”

Hawke broke the seal and unfolded the message, eyes skipping quickly over the paper. It was in the Seneschal’s hand, not Dumar’s, but Dumar dictated or delegated a lot of his communications. When he did write, the calligraphy was so flowery Hawke sometimes had trouble reading it.

Hawke grunted as he put the message down again, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. There was no headache yet, but he could tell that it would be coming. It was one of those days.

“The Qunari sent a delegation to the Viscount’s Keep,” Hawke told Fenris. “And it went well until the delegates disappeared between the Keep and their compound. Bran asks us to track them down and figure out what happened.”

Fenris hesitated and then asked, “Do we want them to be dead or alive?”

Hawke shrugged. “Both are useful in different ways. Let’s hope for alive for now, and we can make them dead if it turns out that’s better for us.”

* * *

Hawke collected Aveline first, as she would get testy with him about not involving her in a possible crime. She still got testy about him pulling her away from her paperwork - 

“Get a secretary, really,” Hawke overrode her grousing, “Let someone else take care of the unimportant stuff.”

\- but it was for the better in the long run.

With Aveline in tow, they went to the Hanged Man to investigate the braggart guardsman who probably had something to do with the disappearance. Aveline had him pants-wettingly scared within ten seconds, no influence needed from Hawke, and they discovered that the guard had been bought by someone wielding the seal of the grand cleric.

“Great, I love dealing with the Chantry. Let’s go see if Varric wants to come along,” Hawke decided. “He’s always up for a good time.”

Varric was not up for a good time.

“As fun as it is to run around playing murderous detective with you, Hawke,” Varric said from halfway into his secret bolt-hole out of his rooms, “I’m kind of avoiding the Merchant’s Guild at the moment.”

“You could go to the meetings,” Hawke suggested. “I mean… just one of them. They might get off your back for a second.”

“Never.” Varric stated gravely. “I have principles.”

Hawke threw up his hands and left Varric to his hiding. Isabela’s rooms were just down the hall, but:

“Qunari give me hives,” Isabela confided. “Bad ones, with the oozing and the itching… or maybe that was the nice sailor boy I saw in port that caused that. Either way, not fond memories. I’ll sit this one out, hm?”

“Can we stop running around after your criminal friends and get to work?” Aveline demanded.

“Hey! Not all my….” Hawke reconsidered for a second. “ _You’re_ my friend and you’re not a criminal.”

“I’ll get started without you.”

“Aveline! Come on, we need at least one more person. We’ll stop by my house on the way back and see if Merrill or Anders wants to come along.”

“Great. More apostates. Just what this venture needed.”

Anders wasn’t home, probably working in his clinic, but Merrill was glad to get out of the house.

“Arianni took me to the alienage again yesterday,” Merrill told Hawke and Aveline, “It was wonderful! They’re very nice there, even though they aren’t much like the Dalish… they know so little of the history of the elves. Do you know much about it, Fenris?”

“I do not care to.”

Hawke looked back at them. Fenris was no longer as wary around Merrill, but he had never really warmed to her. Neither had Hawke; they both were waiting for the day that Merrill buckled under the pressure of the demons, when the lure of power grew too strong for her to resist.

“What did you and Arianni do in the alienage, Merrill?” Hawke asked, trying to get her to leave Fenris alone again.

“I taught them some history, and Arianni took the younger ones to learn their letters and numbers. She’s very sweet with them - I really don’t know why the clan wouldn’t take her and Feynriel back. I think they were more cautious of outsiders before the Blight.”

“You’d think it would be the other way around,” Aveline pointed out.

Merrill shook her head. “We lost people to the Blight, same as anyone. We took in some city elves we met fleeing north, they were quite useless at first but they were eager to learn. People come together during that kind of… world-eating tragedy. It’s incredible to see.”

“I saw more looting and preying on the weak than helping,” Aveline said, her voice low.

“You just can’t focus so much on all the people doing bad,” Merrill said with a bright smile. “Or you miss all the people reaching out to help each other.”

Aveline was quiet for a long moment, thoughtful. "I was in Ferelden for the beginning of the Blight. Came to Kirkwall with the rest of the refugees. My husband Wesley and I were fleeing together, though it hurt him to leave his post. He wanted to keep me safe more. Right outside of Lothering we found this posh noble and his guards trying to fight off a group of darkspawn, and Wesley jumped right in to help. He, um."

Aveline swallowed and cleared her throat, her voice coming out rougher. "He didn't make it out of that fight. Caught the taint. It took him hours later, but he walked with us while he could. Made me promise to stay alive. He said he didn't regret protecting who he could, only that he'd have to leave me. He was... I think he'd have liked you, Merrill."

"I'm sorry I couldn't meet him," Merrill offered, her gaze downcast. "He does sound like a wonderful man."

"Yeah," Aveline agreed. "He was."

* * *

“Who do we know in the Chantry who hates the Qunari probably even more than I do?” Hawke asked Fenris as he pushed open the Chantry doors.

“Would Petrice move without telling you?” Fenris replied.

Hawke shrugged, looking around the darker interior for someone to point him to the grand cleric. “She hasn’t talking to me in a while or sent any new information, and her last few comments have been less than patient. I think she would. I think she’s been whispering in Elthina’s ear, or at the very least borrowing her seal.”

“She could learn some patience from the Qunari themselves,” Fenris said. “They have been sitting in their compound, waiting, for three years.”

“Magister Hawke!”

Hawke turned around to see Petrice herself walking up from behind them, wearing Chantry robes and an unconvincing expression of surprise.

“Sister Petrice,” Hawke greeted with the barest politesse. “We were hoping to see the grand cleric about an issue involving the inappropriate use of her seal. We believe it may have been… appropriated and used for things she would not agree with.”

Petrice’s smile was frozen in place. “It’s Mother now, actually. And I’m afraid that Elthina cannot just see to every man and woman who walks in demanding her attention; why, she’d never get anything else done! I could perhaps help you with this matter. There is a Templar I know of who might have been able to commit this crime you investigate.”

“Can it, Mother,” Aveline snapped. “We know you’re involved.”

“Only in that I used to count Ser Varnell as a friend, but now he is very… openly radicalized. It’s unseemly for a Mother to be seen with such a person, so when he invited me to his refuge in Lowtown to see the ‘Qunari problem’s solution’ in person, I had to refuse.”

“Really, Petrice?” Hawke said softly to her, “This random chaos idea you’ve got will do nothing but get people killed if they actually do decide to turn on the Qunari. We can make them leave without bloodshed if we step carefully and have a real plan.”

“They should be so honored to die in the name of the Maker,” Petrice hissed, her gentle Mother visage dropping. “Defending the Chantry from those - those beasts! If people must die to drive them out, then so be it.”

“Will you be the first to lay down your life then?” Hawke demanded.

“The front lines of battle are no place for a Mother or a Sister. I will guide my flock.”

“The shepherd travels among the sheep and drives the wolves away from them, he doesn’t let them take a few so that the rest will be left alone.” Hawke countered. “But fine, you will be a coward. This is your last warning: stop thinking that you can do this alone, or I will kill you myself.”

“You would threaten a Chantry Mother?” Petrice sneered. “Of course you would, northern heathen. I suppose things are very different for you in Tevinter with _men_ in charge of your Black Chantry and your neutered Templars. You vastly underestimate my protections and your restrictions, _mage_. There are true Templars not thirty feet from you.”

Hawke’s expression was blank and impassive by the time she finished talking. Finally, he said simply, “You have been warned. Don’t do anything else foolish.” and turned on his heel, walking out of the Chantry.

“Hawke?” Merrill asked in a tremulous tone, her steps quick to keep up with Hawke’s long pace. She looked between him and Fenris, who didn’t seem as concerned as that exchange implied he should be. “Are you alright?”

“She couldn’t, could she?” Aveline asked, her brow furrowed with worry. “She’d have to have some reason, some proof…. That’s how the law works.”

“It does not matter,” Fenris assured them, when it was apparent that Hawke was too far into his thinking to answer. “She will not have reason to act on her threats.”

“You’re just going to let this happen?” Aveline demanded.

“Now who said that?” Hawke snorted. “She’s given us Varnell freely enough, she had her use out of him. As for the rest of it….” He turned and considered the two women, eventually deciding to share, “If she knows I’m coming for her, she would be much better prepared to counter me. If she believes she has the upper hand, it goes much easier for me.”

“That’s very sneaky!” Merrill exclaimed. “I’m glad she didn’t scare you off, though. She doesn’t seem like a very good person.”

“She isn’t, but I thought she had some self-control, some small amount of care for the people she claims as her ‘flock’. But if she’s willing to sacrifice some to save the rest, without even trying a more peaceful solution first, she must be stopped.”

Aveline said slowly, “I don’t like this deception, but I understand your reasons, Hawke. If you want to do something about it… don’t let me know of it, and don’t let it be traced back to you. I will uphold the law in this city, even against you.”

* * *

“We - we should burn the bodies, shouldn’t we? The Qunari can’t know of this, they can’t be allowed to find out. They will riot, will attack, they’ll - we can’t let them find out.” Dumar wrung the sleeves of his expensive coat, nails picking at the embroidery nervously. His voice was thin and wheedling outside the confines of his office, Hawke realized. With no walls to keep it in and reflect it, it fell flat and unconvincing.

“Don’t.” Hawke commanded. It was plain that the Viscount was looking for someone to tell him the correct course of action instead of looking for it himself, and Hawke could use that even as it disgusted him. “You take the bodies back to the Arishok and tell him what happened; he will respect the honesty. If you burn the bodies and hide it, and he were to find out - and he _would_ find out, they do have informants in this city - it would not go well for the city’s relationship with them.”

Dumar looked even more frightened by that prospect. “You should go in my stead. I don’t know nearly as much about dealing with the Qunari, you are already familiar with many of their customs and ways, clearly.”

Hawke had to try hard to keep the derision off his face. He had no true fondness for Dumar, and he’d had his suspicions, but here they were all confirmed: the Viscount was a weak leader, unable to make hard decisions and face their consequences himself.

But he still had a part to play, and Dumar held a significant portion of Hawke’s safety in his hands. “Of course I would do that for you, Viscount.”

The journey to the Qunari compound was not a long one. At the gated entrance, Hawke paused by the horned guard and opened his mouth - 

“Go in to the Arishok, magister,” the guard rumbled, pushing the gate open for them. “He wants to speak with you.”

Hawke closed his mouth and glanced over to Fenris, surprised.

Fenris shrugged. “Perhaps he discovered that you were the one investigating the disappearances?”

They continued into the compound, past the uncurious stares of the Qunari passing by or standing guard. They were packed in as badly as the alienage elves, worsened by the fact that Qunari tended to be much larger than elves and these buildings had been made for human habitation.

“I wonder if some of them have to turn their heads sideways to get through doors?” Merrill wondered aloud, not quite quiet enough.

Hawke just barely held on to an open laugh, muffling it into a quick snort. He was still smiling a little as he saw the Arishok for the first time, imagining it.

The Arishok had a magnificently huge set of horns, swept back and out with an eye-pleasing curve to them. _He definitely has to go through doors oddly_ , Hawke thought with another bubble of half-hysterical laughter in his chest. He was glad he’d brought Merrill after all, or this would have been a darker affair.

“So the magister finally comes to see us,” the Arishok growled. He sat forward with interest, elbows braced on his knees. “We knew of you from the day you landed, Garrett Hawke.”

“Am I meant to be impressed? I didn’t exactly make a secret of myself,” Hawke pointed out.

“You have been avoiding me.”

“Sorry, did we sleep together and then I climbed out the window in the morning? Because that’s what you’re making this sound like.”

“Our reports said you like to jest to make others underestimate you. I will not make that mistake, magister. Why have you come here now? It must be important to break your silence.”

Hawke’s spine stiffened and he grew visibly more serious, regarding the Arishok with all traces of humor gone. In a carrying tone he announced, “Your delegation was captured outside the Viscount’s Keep after the meeting, by a rogue Templar named Ser Varnell. The Viscount entrusted the investigation to me. I found Varnell, but was too late to save your people.”

The words fell from the Arishok’s mouth like stones, each heavy and carrying its own cadence. “Do you regret their deaths?”

“I did not kill them and I do not mourn them. They aren’t mine to regret. Their loss will not change anything.”

“Hmmmm.” The Arishok hummed thoughtfully, the sound a deep growl. Hawke could feel Aveline and Merrill barely keeping it together behind him. “You are knowledgeable of the Qun, for an outsider. You truly were from Seheron.”

Hawke bowed shallowly. “Born and raised. You aren’t the first I’ve met, and I doubt you will be the last.”

“Then you know that this city is poisoned by indecision, it is _anathema_ to the Qun. The people are weak-minded and aimless, and their so-called leader is the same.” Finally the Arishok showed some emotion, shifting restlessly in his seat and growing heated, “We cannot abide these conditions forever. We will have what we came for, one way or another.”

“What did you come for?” Hawke asked, not expecting much.

“That I cannot reveal.”

"I want you gone, Arishok. That is my job. The best way for that to happen is for me to help you find what you want."

The Arishok rumbled thoughtfully again, watching with those blank and uncaring eyes. "And who gave you this task?"

"I chose it for myself, as no one else would do it or would even know that it needed to be done."

"Basalit-an," the Arishok said, to the sound of murmuring and whispers from the Qunari close enough to hear him. "I believe that you speak the truth, magister. I seek a book, stolen from my ship."


	22. wanted woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is less proofread in the effort to get it out of my sight. Please let me know if you see any typos or something.

“Who do we know who likes to steal from ships, came to Kirkwall a little over three years ago, and is avoiding the Qunari?” Hawke asked rhetorically, his anger finally showing after they had left the compound.

“Isabela?” Fenris suggested wryly.

“It doesn’t look good for her,” Aveline spoke up, frowning. “That evidence alone is enough to get an arrest.”

“Don’t bother,” Hawke growled. “I can deal with it. Damn! She came to us literally _the day after_ I told Varric to offer my protection to whoever had information on the Qunari problem.”

“That should have been more suspicious in hindsight,” Fenris agreed.

“Are you going to… give her up to them?” Merrill asked.

Fenris snorted. “Of course the blood mage asks about sacrifice.”

Merrill glared at him but it was Hawke who interrupted, “That’s not what she meant and you know it, Fenris. No, Merrill. Isabela will have her chance to explain herself first, and I’m sure it’s going to be a good one. Whether or not it will be truthful…”

“What am I explaining?” Isabela asked. She was still halfway down the street and walking towards them, but something she saw made her stop mid-step, on the balls of her feet. “Hawke?”

The moment poised on an edge, perfectly balanced for a crystalline scene. It tipped when Aveline's hand went to her sword and Isabela's gaze was drawn to the movement.

Hawke’s eyes narrowed. “Isabela, don’t.”

“Sorry Hawke,” she said. “Guess I’ve overstayed, huh?”

“Isabela!” Hawke called, but she had already started running.

“The guilty ones always run!” Aveline shouted after her.

“Thank you, Aveline, but her guilt wasn’t really in doubt,” Hawke panted, trying to keep Fenris in sight. He’d taken off after Isabela instantly, like a wolf on the hunt, but she was probably two streets ahead by now. “Oh, I do not exercise enough.”

“You should go on those morning runs with Fenris,” Merrill told him, jogging lightly at his side. She wasn’t breathing hard at all.

“And what’s your excuse?” Hawke demanded of Merrill, finally stopping with his hands on his knees. Fenris knew where the house was, if he caught Isabela he’d drag her back there.

Merrill shrugged. “I do a lot of walking around, you know. Sometimes I go running - not with Fenris, he goes too fast, I think he doesn’t like me much still.”

Hawke sighed. “Let’s go back to the estate and wait for him. Aveline, you coming?”

She shook her head. “More work to do, especially given that disturbance Varnell caused. I’ll be around later today or tomorrow, though. Keep me updated.”

Fenris showed up at the estate well after midnight, empty-handed with blackened feet.

“She lost me in Darktown,” he explained through exhausted, half-lidded eyes. “No one I questioned gave her up. She will be too tired to leave Kirkwall tonight, but she will be gone by this time tomorrow.”

Hawke drew him in, kissing his forehead and wrapping arms around his shoulders. “Let’s get to bed,” he said softly against the top of Fenris’ head. “We’ll deal with it in the morning. Maybe she’ll come back.”

Fenris made a tired sound of disagreement. “You have too much faith in thieves, master.”

Hawke shrugged and leaned down to hook his hands under Fenris’ legs and hitch them up around his hips, picking him up. “She’s been my friend for three years. I have faith in that.”

Leaning back to counterbalance, Hawke started to walk them into the bedroom. Fenris hid his face in Hawke’s shoulder and let himself be carried.

“She won’t be coming back,” Fenris said, muffled.

Hawke didn’t put him down, just collapsed forward when he felt his knees hit the mattress, twisting as they went so that he and Fenris both landed on their sides.

“Likely not,” Hawke sighed. “But she doesn’t have the Tome or she’d have been gone much faster, which means it’s still here in Kirkwall and we can still resolve this peacefully. This might even be better - if she were within reach, they might want to kill her.”

Fenris mumbled something about Hawke’s optimism and fell asleep, curled against Hawke’s chest. Hawke pet his hair and sank deep into thought, at some point his musings on tracking down the Tome becoming a gray half-asleep dream of a white-furred wolf tracking Isabela, who was wearing the ripped-out and stitched-together pages of a book as a very short dress and the cover as a hat, through a foreboding forest.

The wolf caught her, and ripped into the paper.

* * *

Varric seemed doubtful about Hawke's promise to hear Isabela out before he just handed her over to the Qunari, but he promised he'd have people looking for her.

"I leave you alone for one day and you drive my pirate queen out of the city," Varric said, shaking his head. "Really, Hawke...."

“Not my fault,” Hawke protested. “Why wouldn’t she come to me? The lack of trust, Varric, is just heart-breaking. I’m wounded over here, stop twisting the knife.”

“Maybe it’s the way you kill people left and right, are pretty open about your willingness to do anything it takes to get the Qunari to leave, and _still_ think slavery could be a good idea, which means buying and selling lives can’t mean much to you.” Varric suggested, his tone mild. His eyes flicked pointedly to Fenris leaning against the wall.

Hawke scowled and warned, “We’re not opening that discussion again.”

“We’ve never actually _had_ that discussion,” Varric countered, “But fine, you want to help Isabela. I’ll get the word spread around. You have to know she’s probably already left the city, though.”

“I still have to look,” Hawke said with a shrug. “If for no other reason than to tell the Qunari I did.”

Varric wouldn’t let him leave after that until Hawke had told him every little detail of the adventure, from receiving Bran’s request to Aveline terrifying the guardsman and Petrice’s rash betrayal.

“The Hawke biography is picking up again,” Varric said with a low, impressed whistle. “You’ve been slowing down the last couple years, magister, I was getting worried I had bet on the wrong horse.”

“You’re writing a biography?” Hawke asked, surprised. “I thought you wrote mostly fiction.”

Very serious, Varric told him, “Hawke, your life reads stranger than the strangest fiction I could come up with. My editor told me that adopting a blood mage elf who’s _nice_ was unrealistic and that I’d have to change it to something else.”

“What did you change it to?” Hawke asked, and then realized that was the wrong part to focus on. “Wait, I didn’t _adopt_ Merrill. I’m just… watching her. For the inevitable possession.”

“Sure you are,” Varric agreed, far too easily. “I can tell by the way she and your housekeeper are like mother and daughter, and the way you’ve scared off every man, woman, or child who’s so much as looked at her funny.”

“It’s the face,” Hawke confessed, scratching his beard. “Those big damn eyes… it’s too cute, Varric. I can’t control it.”

“His elf fetish doesn’t help,” Fenris commented from the back.

Hawke snapped his fingers and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, not turning around. “Don’t listen to him, I have no such thing.”

“You do have, what, four elves living with you?” Varric grinned, “Hawke, do we need to talk about something? Do you have a problem?”

“If this goes in your damn book, Varric,” Hawke growled.

“Oh, it’s in the book for sure.” Varric laughed and dodged Hawke’s grab for him, dancing out of reach. “It’s a biography, I have to get the truth to my readers!”

“Get back down here you slippery dwarf - !”

* * *

“How’ve you been running this mage underground while living in my house?” Hawke asked, mostly to himself. “I really need to start paying more attention to you people. Is Merrill doing blood sacrifices in my basement? Apparently I wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m hardly doing blood magic,” Anders snapped over his shoulder, plowing on through the Darktown tunnels.

“And I’m not sacrificing anyone,” Merrill piped up. She added reproachfully, “Still. Or ever.”

“Yes Merrill, thank you, it was just an example. I’m sorry.”

“Noise up ahead,” Fenris told them softly, silencing the party.

It was a group of Templars, accosting a young mage woman who was on her knees in tears and offering something she shouldn’t have to offer to survive.

“YOU WILL PAY FOR YOUR CRIMES AGAINST MAGES,” Anders said, eye sockets filled with blue light and his skin cracking open.

The Templars managed a huge, simultaneous wave of smite, which knocked the breath out of Hawke and Merrill but didn’t even make Anders twitch. Fire rose up from around his feet and engulfed his body, and when he reached out to one Templar’s throat the metal gorget around it melted at his touch.

There were no more smites coming after the first one had clearly failed to stop Anders. Hawke reached out and put his hand on the back of Fenris’ neck, murmuring, “Fenris.”

“Do it,” Fenris said, braced.

Hawke drew power from him, reopening the stunned connection to the Fade and replenishing himself. It wasn’t like their usual slow draw to drain the painful lyrium from Fenris’ lines; it was the forceful pull that Danarius had always used, massive power immediately at Hawke’s fingertips. Exhilarating, but Hawke always reminded himself that it came at a cost.

Fenris didn’t make a sound, but every muscle in his body was tense. It took only a moment and then the pain was gone, and through the residual connection he felt Hawke begin shaping an entropy spell.

There were still six Templars after Justice had melted the faces off of the first two. They were keeping him at bay with swords, the edges of the metal beginning to look softer in the heat radiating off the abomination. Merrill had lost her minimal connection to the Fade with the smite, but she depended on blood magic for most of her fighting and smite couldn’t kill the power in her veins. There were roots coming up out of the ground, smoking ominously but not aflame yet, beginning to catch metal-plated feet.

“Get the girl, Fenris!” Hawke ordered, letting the entropy spell go. One of the Templars in the middle of their defensive line jerked and turned to his left, swinging his sword at his comrade with a wild scream of terror.

Fenris drove himself into the heat of Justice’s fire, so warm it felt like he couldn’t get enough air. He dove under the scramble of Templars, coming back up dragging the mage girl with him. She had her eyes shut tightly and was whimpering, trying to curl up into a ball and reject the reality going on around her.

Justice made short work of the Templars when they were strapped down and attacking each other as often as him, their swords and armor steaming. When they were smoking bodies on the ground, Justice turned to the girl and thundered, “THE TEMPLARS ARE DEAD, YOU ARE SAFE. WHY ARE YOU STILL CRYING?”

“Please don’t hurt me!” she cried, throwing up her hands against the fire. The skin on her palms was already reddening. “Demon! Just stay away!”

“I AM NOT A DEMON,” Justice roared, the fire flaring around him again, more blue light breaking through the cracks in his face.

“You are right now!” Hawke shouted back, stepping between the two with a wintery shield. It was difficult to keep up, not his specialty and unpracticed in ice magic as he was, but he needed it to get within a yard of the screaming creature Anders had become. “You are scaring her, Anders! Get control of yourself or _I will!_ ”

Justice’s expression was furious and snarling, “YOU DO NOT COMMAND ME. I AM FREE.”

Hawke opened his mouth to strike back, and took a calming breath instead. He could react emotionally, or he could get results. Calmly, he said, “Anders, look at her. Are you really going to kill the person you came here to save? You’re scaring her.”

Justice looked at the girl on the ground behind Hawke, Fenris still bent protectively over her. “I AM NOT AN ABOMINATION.”

“Agree with him,” Fenris whispered softly into her hair. “Quickly. ‘Of course not, ser,’”

Shakily, the girl managed a barely audible, “Of course not, ser,” without looking up at Anders’ body.

Justice hadn’t heard the coaching from Fenris. He began to calm, the fire dying out to embers in the charred ground around his feet. Hawke knew the second his reason returned: his face went deathly pale and his eyes widened. Anders turned and fled without another word.

“This was always going to happen,” Fenris growled, glaring after him. “He _is_ an abomination.”

“I hoped he had it under control,” Hawke murmured, the adrenaline beginning to falter and leave him weak. “Sometimes he seems fine… and then he starts talking about Templars and southern mage rights.”

“Justice is only focused on one thing,” Merrill added quietly, wrapping a bandage around the wound on her wrist. “Having his purpose, his existence, questioned like that… no spirit would react well, but it’s the human part of Anders that reacted with anger. That’s what makes him dangerous.”

“So you don’t blame the spirit for that at all?” Fenris demanded.

Merrill shook her head. “No, it’s not… It’s both of them. Alone, neither are bad. It’s the combination that is hurting them.”

“She’s likely right, not that it matters at the moment,” Hawke broke in. “Since Anders has been insisting up until now that he’s fine and has everything under control. Maybe this will make him see… but probably not. People can be blind.”

Hawke blinked and added, "And if he thinks he's fleeing the city too, he's got another thing coming. I'm not losing two friends in as many days, damn it."

* * *

The light was off outside Anders' clinic, but they could clearly hear the sound of wood splintering and glass crashing within.

"Wait here," Hawke told him, and ignored Fenris' protests otherwise.

Anders had just thrown another glass bottle across his clinic as Hawke pushed the door open, shattering it against the wall and into a pile of similar glass shards waiting on the floor below. He turned around, shouting, "Lantern's out - oh. It's you."

"Yes, me, hello," Hawke agreed, taking another careful step closer.

"Are you coming to put me out of my misery?" Anders asked, not in the tone one would usually use to ask about such a thing.

"That... wasn't in the plan, no."

"You should," Anders snorted derisively, looking down at his clenched fists. There were little cuts all over his fingers and palms, where he'd shattered glass in his hands. Softly he admitted, "I can't control him."

"The fact that Ella is still alive tells me otherwise," Hawke said simply. "As well as you being here, instead of in the middle of the Gallows ripping apart as many Templars as you can reach before they finally bring you down."

Anders gave him an empty smile. "Too tired, maybe I'll save the rampage for tomorrow."

"How bad is it, Anders?"

Anders took a shaky breath and sank to the ground, putting his head between his knees and his hands around the back of his neck. To the floor he said, "I'm losing time. I wake up and I'm in the middle of writing my manifesto on mage's rights, and it's light out but it was dark before. You gave me that nice bed in your house but whenever I go to sleep in it I wake up down here, at that desk, writing or making potions. I think... I think I imagined the whole Tranquil Solution thing. I'm so sorry I dragged you into this."

"You didn't imagine it. Alrik really did want to make every mage Tranquil, but both Meredith and the Divine shot him down. Meredith because getting the lyrium for all those rituals would be expensive, and the Divine because Tranquility is not something to be taken lightly."

"Thank the Maker," Anders whispered, still talking to the floor. "Oh, thank the fucking Maker. It's not too late, it's not as bad as I thought."

"Anders...." Hawke hesitated, wondering if this was the right time. But perhaps it was best when the experience was fresh in Anders' mind, when he couldn't rationalize it or convince himself that it hadn't been that bad.

"What we saw in those tunnels, that wasn't Justice. That was Vengeance."

Anders' head finally came up, fixing Hawke with a dead-eyed stare. "I am not a demon."

Carefully, "Not yet. Not entirely. But a human and a spirit cannot coexist without corrupting each other. It's not in our natures. People are too changeable, and spirits are constant."

"I can't - he's a part of me," Anders croaked. "I can't get him out." Softer, desperate, whispered, "I've tried."

And then his eyes narrowed at Hawke and he said venomously, "But I shouldn't have. Justice and I still have work to do here. We cannot rest until the mages are free."

"That's not Anders talking," Hawke observed, one hand trailing back casually to touch his staff. "Or at least not really him. How does it feel to subjugate your very own mage, Justice?"

"I am not imprisoned!" Anders shouted, standing up. "I freed myself, and now I'll help the others to do the same, with or without your help."

"With," Hawke said. "You'll have my help, and you know that. But I need one thing from the part of you that's Justice, alright Anders?"

Anders watched him closely for a moment and eventually nodded. "What do you want?"

"Don't let Anders' anger at the Templars corrupt you. You may not be a demon yet, but you know you can become one - or why would you hate them so much?"

"I could never - " Anders started to say, and then a complicated look crossed his face and his attention turned inwards. "I couldn't - it wouldn't - I'm not...."

"Keep your rage away from him, Anders," Hawke said, his voice soothing. "It's the anger that sets him off, your need for revenge. Stay away from that, at least until... until you're done with each other."

"I was so powerful," said one of the beings in Anders' body, looking down at one hand and remembering it wreathed in fire. He looked up at Hawke. "But I shouldn't be? If I had enough power, couldn't I free them all by myself?"

"You have people who will help you now," Hawke's tone was still soft and insistent. "You don't have to do it by yourself. And once you get that taste for power, everything stops mattering except for getting more of it. You would lose yourself in that feeling. I've been there, I've been pulled back from that. I want to help you."

"I was so angry, too," said Anders' mouth. "I couldn't control it, like a rage demon." He shivered. "I didn't like that. Perhaps you are right."

"It's been known to happen," Hawke gave him a cajoling smile. "Now why don't we clean up here, and you come up to bed?"

"Yours?" Anders asked, smiling a little, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. "Ah, sorry, probably the wrong time for that joke."

"Good idea, actually," Hawke said. "I'll make sure you stay down for a solid night's sleep."

Hawke began herding Anders out of the clinic, opening the door to a very tense Fenris. Hawke mouthed 'all good' at him over Anders' shoulder.

"Uh... just sleeping?"

Hawke gave him an odd look. "Yes? What, are you hungry too? I can have Arianni - "

"No, no, it's fine."


	23. demon doors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I wrote myself into about sixteen different corners while trying to get this one out. How? Every single one of these scenes wanted to go a different direction, and every single one of those would have probably ended in Anders fucking leaving or getting killed, or into sooooooooo much offtrack out-of-place exposition, or a hundred other things. Sorry about the delay :(

Fenris had been watching Anders closely since the thought came to him, and he had seen a plethora of evidence to confirm his suspicions. When Hawke came back from checking in on Merrill, he stopped him at the door to his rooms with a hand on his arm.

“He wasn’t joking, master,” Fenris told Hawke in a low voice, so Anders wouldn’t hear on the other side of that door. The abomination was in his master’s bed, where he’d doubtless been trying to be for a while now.

“Joking about what?” Hawke asked, brow furrowed as he tried to remember if they’d been in the middle of a conversation at some point.

“Earlier. About being in your bed.”

“‘Course not, he’s there right now. Bit far to take a joke, even for him.”

Fenris made a short, aggravated sound. “He wants to have sex with you!”

Hawke blinked dumbly for a moment. Then he started to say, “No, he doesn’t…” and trailed off as several strange things came together for him.

Fenris nodded along as he saw the realization dawn. “I know why _I_ didn’t see it - I try not to pay attention to him - but you’ve usually got a much better eye for the people who want to get under your robes.”

Hawke made a strangled noise instead of speaking, then cleared his throat and tried again, “I was sort of thinking of him as a fellow magister. Not on purpose, but - well, you know how it is back home. Got to be careful.”

Fenris visibly did not disapprove. “You should kick him out then. At least get him a different room.”

Hawke’s first protest was the thought that he wouldn’t do that when he could be getting laid instead - Anders, now that he wasn’t subconsciously labeled ‘off-limits’ was an attractive man. He didn’t have time to voice that before he remembered the instability caused by Justice, who might not be as interested as Anders seemed to be.

Eventually he shrugged, “I think I’ll just ask him about it. Coming?”

Fenris did not really want to sleep with the abomination, but he could hardly leave Hawke alone with him. He’d made that mistake with Isabela, and wouldn’t be making it again. Aggrieved, he growled, “Yes.”

“Asleep yet, Anders?” Hawke whispered loudly into his dark bedroom.

“Not yet,” came the slightly muffled voice. That was Fenris’ side of the bed, both realized at once.

“You know I like the middle anyway,” Hawke muttered to Fenris, who curled his lip and said nothing. He considered the obvious exhaustion in Anders’ voice, and decided, “We’ll leave it til the morning.”

Louder, to Anders again, “Hey, shift over - you’re on the wrong side.”

“ _Like_ this side,” Anders mumbled, but rolled with Hawke’s hand on his shoulder. He was still wearing a thin tunic and pants, and in deference to company Hawke hadn’t stripped down either.

Hawke waved graciously at the newly open space to Fenris, and then got in. Experimentally, he spooned right up behind Anders and put an arm over his waist, and felt the body against his stop breathing.

“Alright there?” Hawke asked, pretending confusion while asking himself how he could have missed this crush for this long. Anders was not being subtle about it.

Anders was slowly relaxing again, his head tucked down almost to his chest. “‘S fine. It’s your bed.”

Hawke felt the mattress bend behind him as Fenris finally finished with his armor and got under the covers as well, his back pressed comfortably to Hawke’s.

Unseen over Hawke’s shoulder, Fenris’ head twisted up to glare one more time at the abomination sharing the bed.

Fenris thought spitefully, _Should not have told him._

* * *

The birds chirping woke Hawke up at dawn, their song filtering through the opened window and bringing him around to consciousness with a peaceful slowness. A cool morning breeze drifted across the back of his neck, soothing against the luxurious heat under the blankets.

Mm, and there was a body in his bed. Hawke turned over and smiled lazily down at Anders, remembering after a formless moment last night’s revelation. He hadn’t even shared it with Anders yet, which was a shame; Anders’ face relaxed in sleep was beautiful, especially that jawline.

Hawke tucked a stray hair across Anders’ face back behind his ear. Anders’ nose twitched slightly but he didn’t stir otherwise, dead to the world despite the birdsong and Hawke nearly prodding at him.

Hawke sighed and decided to let him sleep. Fenris had gotten up early, as usual, and opened the window to let the morning air in. There would hopefully be breakfast waiting in the office or further into the house in the dining room, and Anders would eventually be awake enough to discuss things with Hawke.

Hawke yawned as he padded bare-footed into his office, spotted the tea and apple pastries waiting still steaming-hot on his desk, and smiled lazily. If Fenris wasn’t here, he was still out for his morning run and would be back soon.

Next to breakfast was the morning’s mail delivery, topped by a message from Bethany: she was more hopeful than ever about the progress towards a cure, having discovered several journals from people involved with the first Inquisition who were said to have been there for the first Rite. She also filled space talking about what Carver was doing with the army - another reprimand, what a surprise - and Varania’s research.

In a post-script, she told Hawke to make sure Fenris read and kept whatever had been sent to him by Orana, as Fenris wasn’t sentimental by nature.

Fenris was back within a few minutes, his chest bare and white hair still sodden from dumping a bucket of water over himself before he came into the house dripping with sweat. “Good morning, master,” he greeted, running a towel over his hair.

“Morning Fenris,” Hawke gestured to the letter set aside. “From Orana and Quill for you. Bethy says make sure you keep it.”

Anders came stumbling into the room before Fenris could answer, blinking sleep out of his eyes and looking adorably confused. “What?” he asked the room at large.

“Maybe you should go back to bed,” Hawke suggested, eyeing him. “For another ten hours or so.”

“Gotta… clinic,” Anders said blearily, fixating on the far door and taking a step towards it.

“Gotta… eat.” Hawke corrected, copying Anders’ half-awake tone. He snatched at Anders’ shirt as he stumbled past and redirected him toward the chair across from Hawke’s, force-pushing him into it when it looked like he might try to dodge.

Anders slumped into the chair with a surprised noise, finally looking a little more awake. “Good morning?”

“It was,” Fenris muttered sullenly. There were more chairs in the room, notably a couch against the other wall, but they were all too far away. Fenris sat down at Hawke’s feet and leaned his head against his knee, shooting Anders a smug look out of the corner of his eye when he saw Anders watching.

“Eat,” Hawke insisted, shoving an apple turnover at Anders.

Anders took it before Hawke managed to push it directly into his mouth, chewing slowly and watching Hawke the whole time.

“So it’s been brought to my attention that you want to sleep with me,” Hawke began, conversationally.

He’d waited until Anders was in the middle of swallowing his first bite, the devil. Anders choked and barely managed to keep the food in his mouth, getting it down with minimal gasping for breath.

Finally he demanded, “What? You didn’t _know_?”

Hawke frowned, annoyed at himself. “I wasn’t really paying attention. Things are different in the Imperium - magisters can sleep with whatever Soporati or slaves they want, but when it comes to other mages the rules get a little tricky. It’s not like down here, where no one cares who you sleep with so long as all participants are willing. Two male mages… unless there’s a massive difference in power or influence, it just isn’t done.”

“Really? They care that much about who you sleep with?” Anders asked, interested in Tevinter culture despite himself.

“Only for reasons of procreation, really. Got to make sure the next generation keeps the magic strong. Can’t chance the fresh-blooded mages becoming more powerful and ousting the old families.”

Anders shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his breakfast. “I just thought you weren’t interested, given how much you flirt with everyone else. Even Merrill.”

“Well, she’s an elf,” Hawke said, and then saw Anders raising an eyebrow at him. “Not - not in a racist way, but elves aren’t in the same position in the Imperium. An elf _could_ be a magister - in fact, I believe there is one full-blooded right now, and at least a few half-bloods - but typically they aren’t and can’t rise to that position. Also, female. If she were in a better position, politically, I could marry her for children. 

“As it is, whatever match I find for marriage will have to bring the connections, because I have enough raw power. Think of it like nobles arrange their marriages, except you also have to factor in magical strength instead of factoring out the family’s past production of mages, the way you southerners do.”

Hawke realized he’d gotten a little off-track, and wet his throat with some of the cooled-off tea, keeping an eye on Anders.

Anders’ voice came out a little strangled as he said, “So… this is you letting me down gently?”

“Maker, no, where’d you get that idea?” Hawke asked, setting the cup back down. “How are you feeling? Rested enough for a round?”

“Round of…?” Anders trailed off, sure he was misunderstanding. “Hawke, you were just telling me why a relationship could never go anywhere!”

“A relationship?” Hawke tried to keep the surprise down to a minimum, since Anders was starting to seem offended. “So you don’t just want to have some fun? Oh.”

Anders swallowed thickly, the remnants of the apple filling in his mouth taking on a sickly-sweet flavor and turning his stomach. He stood up. “I don’t think we’re looking for the same thing,” he managed, the pastry crumbling in his too-tight grip.

Anders couldn’t look at Hawke anymore, not and see that honest confusion there, so he looked down at Fenris’ cruel triumph. Of course. He already had what Anders wanted, to be with Hawke every day, to be beloved by him, to have that security….

Anders realized with horror where his thoughts were at, and stepped back automatically. He didn’t realize he was going to say it out loud until the question came bursting out of him, “Is that why you’re his slave? He won’t have you any other way?”

Fenris said nothing, which Anders found rather telling.

“Don’t get huffy just because I don’t want to marry you, Maker’s balls, Anders.” Hawke rolled his eyes. “Leave Fenris out of it.”

“And when you do get married, you’re going to - what - sell him? Wife’s going to be alright with you keeping a pet elf in your marital bed?”

Confused, Hawke replied, “Yes? She’ll probably have her own bed-partner to bring with her, that’s generally how it’s done unless two people really like each other. And there’s separate beds. I think we both have very different ideas about our futures.”

_I don’t have one_ , was Anders’ first and only thought, blotting out any others that tried to come up. _Not if you won’t…._

_I don’t need him to hold me back. No matter what he says, he won’t really be helping me. I don’t need anyone but myself and my own power -_

“Anders, you’re glowing.”

 - _and if anyone tries to stop me, they will be punished for it, they should all pay for ignoring the injustices committed under their noses with their consent_ - 

“Anders!”

Anders broke from his spiralling thoughts, vaguely aware of blue cracks sealing themselves up on his skin. He shivered, recognizing the beginning of a Justice-spiral, leading eventually into a blackout and whatever the spirit did when he overwhelmed Anders’ mind.

“Sorry,” he croaked from a dry throat.

Hawke poured another cup of tea and got up to hand it to Anders, returning to his seat after a moment to make sure Anders could actually keep hold of it in his shaking hands.

“Justice?” Hawke asked.

Anders nodded mutely.

“Is it getting worse, or am I just more aware of it now?”

Anders hesitated for a moment, and shrugged. “Both. Either. I don’t know. He doesn’t like thinking about the future, except as picturing a world where mages are free."

Anders groaned, clutching his head for a moment. Fenris' lip curled and he muttered to Hawke, "He is not strong enough to resist his demon."

"He is not a - !" Anders shouted, head shooting up, and then grunted and gripped his hair again. More calmly this time: "Not a demon. Please stop calling him that. It doesn't help."

"Fenris, don't call Justice a demon ever again," Hawke ordered, his tone deceptively casual.

Fenris' eyes widened at him and he ducked submissively. "Yes, master."

"Anders, I really think you need some help loosening up," Hawke said, standing up. "Get your mind off the shit that makes you angry and brings out those pesky feelings of Vengeance,"

Anders snorted. "Yes, becoming an abomination would really put a crimp in my plans to continue living in a basically human form."

"See? That's good, you have plans. Pretty basic ones, but we'll work on it. We can also work on that stress of yours, if you like." Hawke winked suggestively, giving him a rakish smile. "Really, it's been years since I've had a mage in my bed. I miss it - I assume you know the usual tricks?"

"Are you kidding? There wasn't much else to do in Kinloch Hold, unless you wanted to, Maker forbid, _study something_." Anders considered for a moment. This could be good, could do something for his obsession with Hawke. Maybe all he needed was to get it out of his system. "Sure. Why not?" Anders laughed, the sound coming out nervous and a little forced. "Let's go."

Hawke pulled Fenris up to his feet with a hand on the back of his neck and murmured, "Last chance to play nice, little wolf. Coming?"

In bed with an abomination or leaving Hawke alone in bed with an abomination.

"I can be nice."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter starts with a sex scene and ends with....? Who knows, certainly not me. You guys think I plan half this shit?


	24. glowing times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You got your plot in my porn!"/"You got your porn in my plot!"
> 
> The plot happened kind of by accident, like that good old Reeses' peanut butter cup commercial.

Anders just barely held back his grimace when he saw Fenris following Hawke into the bedroom. Of course the elf would be there, he never left Hawke's side. Anders would wonder how they didn't grate on each other's nerves all the time, never being apart, but then there was probably nothing Fenris could do to anger Hawke that he wouldn't put a stop to, and Fenris was visibly enamored with Hawke and probably thought the sun shone out of his ass.

Anders shook the irritable thoughts out of his head and refocused just as Hawke closed the last step between them and kissed him soundly. That was so distracting that he only noticed the body coming up behind him when Hawke moved and started kissing down his throat, beard scratching pleasantly against Anders' skin, and Fenris' hands slid up his abdomen under his shirt.

Hawke pushed Anders back a little, putting his weight onto Fenris' arms. Fenris' mouth came down on Anders’ neck, trailing light kisses up the other side. Anders made a whimpering noise and tipped his head all the way back, fingers carding through Hawke’s dark hair. He could get on board with Fenris being here if he kept doing wonderful things with his mouth.

Hawke pulled away for a moment to say, “Fenris, show him the lyrium thing.”

Anders had half a second to wonder what that could mean, before he was hit from behind with the electric energy of lyrium, as strong as if he’d sucked up a raw lyrium deposit in the Fade. He gasped, hips arching into Hawke’s, and made the snap decision to be much nicer to Fenris if he just kept doing that.

“What’s he feel like, Fen?” Hawke asked, one hand moving down to cup Anders’ groin and give him something to rut against.

“Hot springs,” Fenris grunted, one arm around Anders’ abdomen, hand spread against his stomach and feeding power through it. “His… spirit feels like the taint of metal in a hot spring, and his magic is boiling.”

Anders’ head was still spinning through that sensation of lyrium, tilting closer and closer to the edge, but he had the presence of mind to register that and ask, “You can feel my magic?” He’d never felt anyone else’s, but he supposed you could call his magic a hot spring. Wasn’t everyone’s like that?

Fenris grunted an affirmative, and Anders was about to ask what Hawke’s felt like - seemed a fair trade - but the energy rushing through him reached some tipping point and opened up a new awareness.

Anders and Justice became two minds for the first time in years. Justice felt the Fade through the lyrium connection, still unable to reach home, and yearned to return to it. Anders felt Justice’s driving motivation lift from his mind like a fugue cloud, leaving him with a strange, light clear-headed feeling.

Distantly he heard Hawke groan, “Why are you glowing _again_ , Anders?”

Fenris stopped the flow of lyrium, cutting them off and lifting the separative barrier between Anders and Justice. They were slow to reintegrate together, for a dizzying moment being aware of two different minds at once.

“BRING IT BACK,” Justice moaned softly in his resonant voice, “I COULD FEEL HOME AGAIN.”

“Do that again,” Anders begged, feeling Justice slotting back into the usual places in his mind like a well-worn glove. For a moment he’d been himself again, purposeless and lonely but above all else _free_. “Please, I could feel….”

“Fenris, give him the lyrium again,” Hawke murmured, staring into Anders’ eyes.

“This is how addictions happen,” Fenris muttered back, but lit up his lines anyway. This time he threaded his hands into Anders’ long hair, cupping his head between them.

Anders shivered as he felt the separation again, aware now of the differences between what was himself and what was Justice. And this time he knew it happened because Justice was stronger, because Justice’s connection to the Fade, through Anders, was stronger. The line between them was being darkened so that he could finally see it.

“I wanted mages to be free,” Anders whispered, eyes closed as he remembered, “But I never wanted to die for it.”

“DEATH IS NOT PERMANENT,” Justice told them. “IT IS NOTHING TO BE FEARED.”

“What a moodkiller,” Hawke grumbled. “Anders, I think we figured out half a solution to your problem.” Hawke saw Fenris’ expression growing strained over Anders’ shoulder and added, “But Fenris is getting tired. Fix this moment in your mind, remember what this felt like. Can you do that?”

“IF THERE WAS A LITTLE MORE, I COULD GO HOME,” Justice bemoaned, hands coming up to clutch at Fenris’ and keep them pinned to his head. “PLEASE, JUST A LITTLE MORE.”

“I have nothing more to give you,” Fenris panted. “Let go of me.”

“What if I forget again?” Anders demanded, his nails digging into Fenris’ skin. “How could I forget in the first place?”

“You can hurt him, Fenris,” Hawke said.

Fenris curled his fingers and clawed at Anders’ scalp, twisting them to pull his hair at the same time. Anders hissed in pain and finally let go of him, letting Fenris pull away. “Please!”

“He’s not going to suffer because you suddenly realized what the rest of us have been saying all along: you should never have let yourself be possessed,” Hawke snapped.

Anders groaned, clutching his head still. “I forgot! I - made myself forget? Justice made us forget. It was hurting us, it’s hurting us now….”

Hawke grabbed Anders over his hands, the same hold Anders had just had on Fenris. He pushed his face into Anders, staring deep into his eyes. “Don’t,” he demanded in a soft, intense tone. “Don’t make yourself forget again. It may hurt now, but you can make it hurt less later. Justice, we can get you home, I swear I will get you home. But you can’t make Anders forget again.”

Anders’ body shuddered in Hawke’s grip, unable to look away from those burning golden eyes. “I’ll remember.”

"Good," Hawke smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that always made Anders want to touch the wrinkles. "But, ah, you should probably get some more rest after that - "

"No!" Anders grimaced and licked his lips, realizing too late how desperate that had come out. "No, please, I was just... it helps remind me of human things. Justice doesn't understand it so it's one more thing that can help me keep up separate." Also, he'd just had the lyrium infusion of his life and felt jittery-high on the energy.

"Medicinal sex," Hawke said in a wondering tone. "That's a new one. I should try that line sometime. Do you think Aveline would fall for it?"

"If it were true, she'd probably just let you die," Fenris told him wryly, rubbing his fingers. The red welts from Anders' nails were just beginning to fade.

"Fenris, I'm sorry," Anders murmured, just remembering that he wasn't alone with Hawke. Hawke's presence so dominated a room that he often forgot other people were in it too. "Here, let me...."

Fenris, with some reluctance, allowed Anders to turn and take up his hands, sending a soothing healing spell through them. At Hawke's silent urging stare over Anders' shoulder, Fenris said an ungracious, "Thanks."

Anders huffed a small breath and rolled his eyes good-naturedly, a far cry from his usual reactions to Fenris. "Thank you. If it weren't for your markings, I'd have no idea how much of my mind was me and how much was Justice." Anders lifted up Fenris' hand, still held in his grip, and kissed it. He saw Fenris' eyes go wide, grinned and added, "Can I kiss you?"

Fenris shot a frightened look over Anders' shoulder, to see Hawke thoroughly enjoying himself.

"He's pretty good with his mouth, I've always said," Hawke said, taking up a place at Anders' back where Fenris had been before. "Fenris, you still in?"

"If I'd known that flirting would put you out this much..." Anders trailed off, still waiting for a response. "Well, I think we'd have argued less."

Fenris kissed him just to shut him up, leaning up on his tip-toes and still having to pull Anders down with a hand on the back of his neck. Why was the man so tall? Inconvenient.

Anders made a muffled noise against Fenris' mouth, and when Fenris ducked lower to kiss along his jaw - one of the few things he could admit was attractive about the abomination - he saw it was because both of Hawke's hands had dipped below the waist of Anders' sleeping pants. Anders was panting against Fenris' sensitive ear, which he would have been more annoyed by if it didn't feel so good.

"Bed," Anders demanded breathlessly. "Please. Someone fuck me."

"What about both of us?" Hawke suggested, one wrist moving slowly. Anders whined and then registered what he'd said.

"Uh, that takes a lot of - stretching, and I'm willing but it's really more of an end-of-day thing because I'm pretty useless afterwards."

Hawke shared a wide-eyed, raised-brow look with Fenris. "I meant one after the other, sweetheart, but I'll keep that other thing in mind."

Anders laughed. "That makes more sense. Who's...?"

"Fenris first," Hawke said, drawing them back towards the bed, "He's a little smaller than me, get you nice and stretched out."

Anders sighed languorously and tipped backwards onto the bed, legs spread invitingly. “Yes please, I’ll have one of everything, bartender.”

Fenris had gotten to fuck so many humans since coming to the south, with them having none of the Imperium’s idea of hierarchy outside of bed carrying over into it. He was being spoiled, really.

Fenris settled himself between Anders’ legs, lifting his hips to slide the pants off. Habit with Hawke had him reaching for his lyrium, but he stopped himself before anything could start glowing; instead he shifted down to mouth at Anders’ cock and held one hand out towards Hawke.

The grease spell spilled into his hand on cue, and Fenris pushed one finger into Anders at the same time as he took the head of his cock into his mouth. He looked up and found that Anders wasn’t making much noise because he had a blissful, drugged-out expression on his face and three of Hawke’s fingers in his mouth. Anders was sucking on them like he expected something to come out.

Hawke groaned, the loudest sound in the room for a moment, and kneeled up, pulling Anders onto his side. Fenris shifted easily with the change in position, pinning one of Anders’ legs beneath him and letting the other one rest as a comfortable weight over one shoulder and on his back, squirming upwards for the leverage to get his neck out of an odd angle. After he had repositioned he hummed around Anders’ length and added a second finger, crooking both of them againt a spot that had Anders’ whole body shuddering.

Hawke’s new position put Anders up on one of his elbows and at a height to get his mouth around Hawke’s cock instead of just his fingers. With one hand stroking gently through Anders’ hair, Hawke used the other to guide himself in, making another satisfied sound as Anders’ chapped lips sealed around him. Anders reached up and pressed one finger behind Hawke’s balls.

“Maker’s breath!” Hawke exclaimed, jolting too hard into Anders’ mouth. But he seemed to have been expecting it, his throat relaxed and rocking back with the thrust. Fenris made an inquistive humming sound, peering up at them.

“You are really good at that electricity spell,” Hawke told Anders, “I mean, it’s pretty standard for mages in the Imperium but - ah!” Anders had shocked him again, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and Hawke continued a little winded, “But that’s the best I’ve ever had it. Feeling a little insecure about mine now.”

Fenris pulled off of Anders for a moment to say, “Yours is wonderful, mas - ”

The rest of what he’d been about to say was lost as Anders sent a spark through the foot resting on Fenris’ lower back, somehow directing it straight through to his cock. He wheezed in a breath, trying not to come instantly, holding on with his fingernails and willpower.

“His is better.”

Fenris had three fingers in Anders, pressing relentlessly against his prostate with every thrust. When Hawke pulled out of his mouth, Anders turned his head to glare down at Fenris and demand, “Maker’s sake, I’m ready, just fuck me!”

Fenris smirked at him and lifted himself onto his knees, flipping Anders fully onto his stomach and laying himself out on his back fully, just barely able to reach Anders’ ear. He growled into it, “I hope you like it rough.”

“Promise?” Anders threw over his shoulder, a challenging grin on his face.

Fenris lined himself up again, and on impulse reached out for a handful of Anders’ long hair, wrapping it around his fist, and yanked his head back as he pushed in.

Anders’ moan ended with a hissing sound, which Fenris would have taken for pain if it weren’t for the way he could feel Anders clenching up around him. “Really? You couldn’t hold on even a little?”

“Warden stamina,” Anders panted, head still pulled back at an uncomfortable angle and eyes clenched shut. “Just keep going. Hawke, please, let me….” He reached out towards Hawke again, but Hawke pulled away, laughing lightly.

“Not all of us have Warden stamina,” Hawke told him. “And you’re a little _too_ good. I need to calm down a little.”

Anders made a disappointed sound, and then grunted as Fenris finally decided he’d waited long enough for Anders to adjust and relax, and started moving. A couple of build-up thrusts, and then Fenris was fucking him hard enough that he needed both arms against the matress pushing back to keep from being shoved forward.

The angle of Fenris’ grip on his hair changed, pulling more to the side than back, which was a relief for some muscles and a fresh hell for others. Fenris’ other hand was bruising force on his hip, pulling him back into each thrust. It was nearly overwhelming, but Anders maintained just enough presence of mind to concentrate another lightning spell through his body. He was the current so he couldn’t feel it, but judging by the stutter in Fenris’ rhythm it had an effect.

Fenris swore in Tevene as he came, something so fast and slangy that Anders had no hope of translating it, but Hawke laughed delightedly. “I think you two are going to _have_ to get along now.”

Fenris pulled out, still panting to get his breath back as he just rolled over and collapsed on his back next to Anders. “I suppose he isn’t so bad.”

“Hear that, Anders?” Hawke asked, knocking one of Anders’ supporting arms out from under him and rolling him onto his back as well. Hawke’s face loomed above him, grinning delightedly. “You’ve graduated to ‘not so bad’. A couple more orgasms, and he might actually start liking you!”

“Chantry’ll come after you for blasphemy like that,” Anders slurred, sounding slightly drunk.

Hawke slid right in after Fenris, Anders wet and opening easily around him. He moaned appreciatively, pausing when he was fully buried in that tight heat and pressing his face into Anders’ neck to get his bearings back.

Anders was already rolling his hips, in the wrong position for his own leverage but still trying to get Hawke to move. Hawke picked up that rhythm with him, rocking them together with short, slow movements. 

Anders whined, “Faster,” drawing out the word childishly.

“Rough’s not really my style,” Hawke told him, still rolling his hips almost lazily. “I prefer… thorough.” He punctuated the sentiment with a hard, deep thrust, following through the motion far enough to lift Anders’ hips up, and released his own lightning spell at the same time.

Anders groaned under him, eyes rolling up and entire body tensing up as he came again. “Nnnnnn,” was all he managed to say, hands scrabbling at Hawke’s shoulders, trying to pull him closer with nerveless fingers.

Fenris reached out and tilted Anders’ face towards him with a touch on his chin, kissing him with a sweetness at odds with the harsh way he’d fucked him earlier. Anders did his best to kiss back, but every thrust of Hawke’s hips was a new distraction, a new wave of weak electricity sizzling through him. There was a hand on his cock, not his own and, judging by the hands on his shoulder and hip, probably also not Hawke’s.

Hawke was definitely going for thorough. Anders’ last orgasm found him almost exhausted, creeping up so slowly that he didn’t think he’d even manage it before Hawke had finished. It washed over him like a black wave, smothering his vision and sending him spiraling down into warm dreams.

Back in the world of the waking, Hawke pulled out and laid himself down on Anders’ other side, poking his cheek after a moment and asking, “Anders?”

“I think we put him to sleep,” Fenris said after a moment, when it was clear that Anders wasn’t just getting his breath back after his third round. “Or possibly killed him. Does he have a pulse?”

Instead of feeling for it in his neck, _like a normal person_ , Hawke grabbed Anders’ dick and waited. “Yep, heart’s still beating. He really does need to sleep more.”

Fenris turned and buried his face in the blankets, trying to reconcile with the idea that he’d just laid with an abomination. One with great talent in bedroom magic, and who seemed a little more respectful now that he had a use for Fenris instead of just seeing him as ‘the competition’.

Hawke sighed dramatically and flopped back down, spreading himself out to stretch. "What time is it? Did I have something important to do today?"

Fenris flicked through his memory, organizing the rest of the day. “Sebastian wanted to meet with you at the Chantry today, and you told Feynriel you’d look over his Tevene writing.”

Hawke groaned. “I am not equipped to teach someone a new language, Fenris. Why did I sign up for this?”

“Your soft heart and elf fetish teamed up against your better judgement,” Fenris supplied easily.

“It is not a _fetish_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: _really don't know what I'm doing_ writing porn. That's like 75% of why this one took a while.


	25. the devil pays

“I know who contracted the Flint Mercenary Company to kill my family,” Sebastian said, head bent as he began the process of stringing his bow with slow, deliberate movements.

He had been poking around Sebastian’s little Chantry cell, but now Hawke looked up and over at Sebastian. “Really,” he drew the word out thoughtfully. “That’s… good. I assume you would like my help to hunt them down?”

“I know where they are,” Sebastian said, still in a low and emotionless tone. “In this very city, in fact. The Harimanns. They were… friends of the family. Or I thought they were. If you would like to help, I could use some backup when I go to confront them at their estate, but I will be going either way.”

Hawke couldn’t very well let his investment go haring off and getting himself killed on some revenge-scheme, but so far Sebastian hadn’t proven to be a very good investment. “I’ll help you with this,” Hawke promised, “And perhaps we’ll even find out why they turned on your family. But after this, I want you to take a trip back to Starkhaven. Just for a week or so. It’s your home and your people, Sebastian.”

Sebastian smiled weakly as he asked, “Thinking of taking a vacation from all your strenuous investing?”

Hawke blinked. He hadn’t meant for Sebastian to think that Hawke would be coming with him, but Hawke could more easily convince him to take back his throne like that. Taking a week-long vacation to Starkhaven wouldn’t weaken his position in the city over-much, despite both the Viscount and the Qunari leaning on him to find the Tome. He could spin them a story about chasing down a lead - he could, in fact, _look_ for leads in Starkhaven. Perhaps the Tome had made it out of Kirkwall after all.

“Giving money away and getting more money back can be so exhausting,” Hawke agreed, recovering. “And you can show me all the sights - especially those brothels you mentioned you used to frequent. They sound like my kind of place.”

Sebastian’s smile went strained. “I’m… not really that man anymore, Hawke. I didn’t particularly like him when I was.”

_The problem_ , Hawke thought, _is that you’re not any kind of man anymore. Unformed clay. Elthina wants the Maker’s hand to shape you even though her Chantry preaches that the Maker has turned away from his creations, so if she won’t mold you… I will._

“So these Harimanns,” Hawke said aloud, “They have an estate in Hightown, correct? I think I’ve passed by it before. Never seen anyone but servants going in and out.”

“Yes, they used to host some very… active… parties, but the house has lately been quiet. It’s a strange turn for them. Perhaps they do feel some guilt over their actions.” Sebastian scowled. “But not enough, and not as much as they will.”

* * *

“To Kirkwall’s stupidly high demon population!” Hawke toasted, lifting his mug of Kirkwallian piss-ale. “Maker, I hate this fucking place. Got more maleficars than a session of the Magisterium.”

Varric leaned heavily on the table with one elbow, using the other arm to point accusingly at Hawke as he squinted. “I’d like to see those statistics, serah,” he growled, slurring the _serah_. “That is slunder - slander against my wonderful city, and I will not have it!”

“I’m getting flashbacks to that drunk we found in the wine barrels,” Anders said to Sebastian, nursing his mug of water.

Sebastian looked up from his own mug. He was turning out to be a sad drunk instead of a fun one - but perhaps that was just the kind of day he’d had. “I avenged my family,” Sebastian mumbled, staring blindly between the table and Anders’ face. “Got ‘em. And it was a demon. Demons ruin every - _hic_ \- everything.”

“I’ll sing the Chant to that!” Hawke declared, slamming his empty mug down. “Fucking demons. It was a lust demon though, so not _literally_ but just - fuck demons. Right, Varric?”

“Metaphorically fuck demons,” Varric agreed, pointing vehemently again.

"How come people keep giving in to demons?" Sebastian asked his tankard morosely. "It feels really simple; a demon comes up and asks you, hey, do you want this thing? And then you say no and they go away. How hard is that?"

“What if a demon offered to bring your family back?” Varric asked, both hands on the table and leaning towards Sebastian.

“It - it was the Maker’s will that they were taken from me,” Sebastian stuttered. “And the dead cannot be brought back to life.”

“Yeah, maybe. But what if Hawke hadn’t showed up to help you, and you were alone, and a demon offered to help you avenge your family?”

“I wouldn’t have!”

With far more gravity than his drunken state should have made possible, Varric asked, “Are you sure?”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Sebastian growled, scowling down at the table.

Varric shrugged and took another drink. “Not taking sides. But there are levers to move anyone to do most anything, as every good author knows; demons use those levers. For you, it’s your family. I tell you this so that you can guard yourself against it, Chantry-boy.”

“I would never,” Sebastian insisted again, quieter and more subdued.

“Hm,” Hawke broke in, waving a hand in front of Varric’s eyes to get his attention. “What’s mine?”

“Your lever?” Hawke grinned and nodded, leaning heavily on the table. “Specifically the lever to demon possession.” Hawke’s brows drew together and he nodded again, impatiently. “Don’t have one.”

“Psh! You said everyone did! I’m just special?” He smiled and sat back with a satisfied expression.

“Yes, Hawke, very special. No, you’re just so against demons that I can’t think of anything that’d make you side with one.” In a narrative tone, Varric continued, “The lure of greater power could not touch him, for the idea of relying on a power not his own was so alien that it had never even been an option. He was the closest thing to incorruptible by demons as you could get, although he fell prey to other vices and sins known to the Maker’s children.”

Hawke clapped, laughing, “What’s so sinful about me?”

“Basically just list off whatever you’ve done in the last week and that about covers it,” Varric replied.

“What about Fenris?” Sebastian asked, finally looking up from his tankard to focus on the elf sitting quietly next to Hawke.

“Don’t worry about it,” Varric said blithely.

“You mean to say you think he doesn’t have a lever either?” Sebastian snorted. “I think your theory has some holes if more people than not are immune.”

Sharper, Varric repeated, “Don’t worry about it.”

Hawke, sensing the rather negative turn the atmosphere was taking, decided to cajole Sebastian into hitting on a couple of the women sitting at Corff’s bar. They were clearly on the prowl, and Sebastian was better-looking than most of the unwashed men that could be found in Lowtown.

Sebastian could be bothered into picking his favorite from among the lot, but not into actually taking her anywhere; he sobered up enough to walk back to the Chantry and left Hawke, Varric, and Fenris to finish off their own drinks.

Hawke went to take the empty tankards and the tray back up to Corff, leaving Fenris alone with Varric for a moment.

“What’s up, Shiny?” Varric asked.

Fenris startled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been itching to ask me something basically all night. Since that conversation with Sebastian about demons, actually.”

After a moment of watching Hawke navigate around a body slumped - hopefully only unconscious - on the floor, Fenris asked softly, “You wouldn’t answer Sebastian’s question, about my… lever.”

“Wasn’t his business,” Varric said simply, watching the subdued crowd of regulars and not looking at Fenris.

“But you think I do have one,” Fenris supplied leadingly.

“Most people do; you’re no special exception.”

“You think it’s Hawke.”

Varric gave him a dry look, finally meeting his gaze. “You think it’s not?”

Passionately, “I would never - he’d hate me for it. He’d - he would kill me.”

“But he’d be alive to hate you, wouldn’t he?” Varric saw Fenris’ eyes widen, saw the continuing protests coming to his lips, “He might kill you for it - but it’s not like you wouldn’t already die to save his life, right?”

Fenris’ jaw snapped shut with an audible click, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t seem to be breathing.

“What’re you saying to my elf, Varric?” Hawke complained as he returned. “That’s his murderface.”

“Murderface?” Varric asked, “Here I was thinking that’s just his default face.”

Hawke peered closely at Fenris, lifting up the strands of hair that were falling into his face like he was sweeping back a curtain. “You may be onto something with that. Alright there, Fen?”

Fenris’ ‘murderface’ softened a little as he looked at Hawke. “Yes, master, I’m fine.”

“Just coming to peace with some things, apparently,” Varric added.

* * *

“We are going on vacation,” Hawke announced loudly in the foyer, “Not moving again. Fenris, why is there so much luggage?”

“Best to be prepared,” Fenris said, with a determined look in his eye.

“There’s four cases here! I traveled all around the Imperium with you on one!”

“We could be assured of finding good culture and goods at any given stop in the Imperium,” Fenris told him, “Which is not assured down here in the Marches. There is extra clothing, money, weapons, food, and other miscellaneous items. Also, your papers from the Viscount and the Minrathous Circles.”

“I have to have papers to travel in the south,” Hawke muttered sourly, “Like a - well, like a slave, I suppose. That’s annoying.”

“Told you,” Anders muttered sullenly. Torn between the clinic and following after Fenris like a starving dog hoping for lyrium scraps, his conscience and Justice both demanded he stay for the clinic; he wasn’t looking forward to whatever amount of reintegration would happen with both of his methods for keeping his and Justice’s minds separate gone for a week.

Sebastian, of course, showed up with a single bag and his bow and armor. He looked at the traveling cases and then back to Hawke, asking, “You said a week, right?”

“I packed for him, too,” Fenris assured Hawke.

“I’ve got a change of clothes,” Sebastian protested, “And we’ll be staying at my house.”

“I wonder if they bathe more often in Starkhaven,” Hawke asked, loud and pointed. “Because I must say, these unwashed savages are giving me headaches whenever I breathe through my nose.”

“It is unhealthy to bathe too often,” Sebastian corrected, plainly shocked.

“It’s not, actually,” said the healer, picking at dirt under his fingernails. Since being introduced to Hawke’s bath, which was like the ones he’d known back in Kinloch Tower, he’d hardly gone a day without. “Well, the skin-scraping thing they do in some parts of Tevinter are bad for your skin if done too often, but just water is fine.”

Hawke shuddered. “We haven’t used that method in polite society in decades. The baths are much more comfortable and convenient. Still, if that’s the prince’s idea of washing, I hate to think how often the masses do it… we may need to rethink this trip.”

“Does Messere need any more food?” Arianni asked, appearing at the door to the dining room with a long spoon in one hand, apron wrapped around her.

“Maker, no! I’d need a fifth case at this point.”

“We will be fine with what you’ve already made,” Fenris assured Arianni.

“The house is in your charge while I’m gone,” Hawke said to her, “Make sure Anders sleeps sometimes, and keep Merrill out of the kitchen. And make sure Karl doesn’t starve or waste away upstairs… he should teach Feynriel some things while I’m gone. No need to let the boy slack off now.”

“Yes, Ser,” Arianni smiled and snapped off a salute. “I know very well what damage she can do in my kitchen.”

“Very good,” Hawke nodded. “Was there anything else, Fenris?”

“Don’t let Varric in while we’re not here.”

Hawke snapped his fingers and nodded. “Yes, that’s right. He’s been trying to find the Tevinter sex dungeon, and I’m not sharing.”

Sebastian’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. “Surely you must be joking.”

Hawke gave him an innocently confused look. “No, he’s really been looking for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of posting this, the next chapter features the Hawke Vacation Adventure. Whether or not that's what you will actually get once I've finished with it, remains to be seen. For example: this chapter was supposed to be rather light-hearted, and we see how well that turned out.


	26. fun in Starkhaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay so the Starkhaven vacation was supposed to take one chapter and its at least two now
> 
> Readers of a certain other book series will recognize some of the names in this chapter

“Your house in the city has good beds, right?” Hawke demanded of Sebastian, tilting his head away from the rattling wall of the carriage slightly to look at him.

Sebastian was still a faint red color, the same as he had been all morning. “You wouldn’t be so tired if you’d actually used the beds in the inn for sleeping.”

“I tried,” Hawke said, aggrieved, “But they were too uncomfortable.”

“So you had your way with Fenris all over every other surface in the room, apparently,” Sebastian muttered, refusing to even glance at either of them.

He therefore missed Hawke’s lascivious grin down at Fenris, who was sleeping on the carriage bench and resting his head in Hawke’s lap. “Well, I had to find something to entertain myself, didn’t I? Couldn’t exactly sleep on those beds - what were they, pointy rocks? I’d have had a better time sleeping on the ground outside!”

“You’re just spoiled by the feather mattress at home,” Fenris muttered, giving no indication that he was awake other than speaking.

“That may be true,” Hawke began, his tone paused as though he were about to refute the point. Instead he just stopped.

“But?” Sebastian prompted.

“Changed my mind, it’s completely true.”

“Yes, the beds at the Vael home are very comfortable,” Sebastian answered, getting back to the main point. Muttering again, he added, “And I’ll be putting you in the farthest room from the rest of the house.”

“You should loosen up a little on this trip, Seb,” Hawke said suggestively, eyebrows waggling. “It wouldn’t kill you, you know. You haven’t even taken any vows, so it’s not like it’d damn your eternal soul, either.”

“I told you, Hawke,” Sebastian sighed, “I’m just not interested in that sort of thing anymore.”

“Skip the sleeping around and go straight to marriage, then,” Hawke decided. “That’s what you need: a smart woman to run your life for you. Maker knows you’re doing a shit job of it for yourself.”

“I am - !” Sebastian began, and then stopped himself. Eventually, in a weak voice, he said, “I need… something. A purpose. I’m not looking for marriage, I know that. I hope I will know my purpose when I see it.”

“And if you don’t see it, you’ll just waste yourself in the Chantry,” Hawke grunted. “Good plan.”

Sebastian colored. “I know you think I should become the Prince… but that was never supposed to be my destiny. I’m.” Sebastian brought a hand up to cover his eyes, head tipped down and throat choked as he finished, “I _was_ the third son. I wasn’t supposed to rule. I didn’t get any of the lessons or the experience my older brothers did…. I can’t.”

Hawke hummed, running his fingers through Fenris’ hair and pretending not to notice Sebastian wiping tears away. “We’ll see.”

Half an hour later, as the first buildings of Starkhaven began to appear in the distance, Sebastian rose from his seat and craned his head alongside the carriage window, frowning at something he could just barely see.

“That’s not right,” he said to himself, trailing off into worrying silence.

“What is it?” Hawke asked, nerves lighting up all along his spine and legs. He was more aware than ever that he had little protection outside of Kirkwall and the Viscount’s immediate influence; he wasn’t even wearing robes, instead dressed in southern nobleman’s clothes.

Fenris sat bolt upright, instantly awake at Hawke’s tone, and starting strapping on the spiky pauldrons he’d taken off to sleep.

“There’s only one guard on the road,” Sebastian said, turning back to them. “It always used to be at least four… I wonder if there’s a problem.”

“Ambush?” Hawke asked, looking out the window when Sebastian had moved out of the way. They were drawing closer, enough that Hawke could make out the Starkhaven insignia on what had to be a guardsman’s uniform. “They would have used more than one man, then. And the uniform fits well enough that it could have been issued to him.”

The carriage drew up alongside the guard post, a small, open-sided hut built to be the first building visitors had to pass to get into the city. Just beyond it was the first of many inns and taverns, leading back into a market street.

“Holt!” The guardsman called. “Back from Kirkwall already?”

The driver jerked his thumb back at his carriage, saying, “Makin’ a special trip for Prince Vael, as you do.”

“Prince Vael!” the guard was almost comically shocked, stepping right up to the window and peering in. “We thought you were dead!”

“Just wasting away in the Kirkwall Chantry, I’m afraid,” Hawke answered, as Sebastian grimaced under the attention.

“Well, go on then, Holt!” the guard exclaimed, slapping the side of the driver’s seat.

Holt grunted and asked, “Don’t you gotta search our cargo, like always Benny?”

“You’re driving the Prince of Starkhaven,” Benny hissed up to him, “If he wants to bring something into his own damn city, I’m pretty sure that makes it legal no matter if its raw lyrium or fuckin’ elfroot.”

“Well said,” Hawke told him with an approving nod. “Benny, might I ask - aren’t there supposed to be more guards stationed here?”

Benny scowled, looked toward the spread of the city, and spat, “Would be, if they didn’t have half the force keepin’ the riffraff out of Prettybone and the other half keepin’ the knife-ears in the Mudpit. There’s enough left for one guard per road, and maybe a patrol every once in a while if we wanna risk the stabbing.”

Holt started the carriage moving again then, taking off into Starkhaven and freeing up the lane to let a merchant cart pull up behind them. Hawke heard Benny begin a tired, practiced line about stopping and being searched, but the horses had them pulling away before Hawke could make anything else out. He turned to Sebastian.

“I take it that’s not normal,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

Sebastian was watching narrow-eyed the crowds they were passing through. Merchants with half-full tables and stalls, and there weren’t nearly enough people still doing their early-morning shopping. “No,” he said quietly, “This isn’t normal at all.”

* * *

“The alienage,” Sebastian nodded as they passed the packed-dirt path that led towards a cluster of short, ramshackle wooden buildings. “It’s been called the Mudpit for as long as I can remember. None of the roads down there are cobbled or covered, so when the rains come…. I’ve only been in once, when my father had to visit, and it wasn’t pleasant.”

Much farther along, with the graveled street giving way to well-kept cobblestones, Sebastian spoke up again to say, “And this is the nobles’ district, Starkhaven’s version of Hightown. It doesn’t have a proper name like that, but the people who don’t live here call it Prettybone because, well….”

Hawke could tell why. The houses were beautiful Starkhaven architecture, elongated and few higher than two stories, with the typical rounded windows and extended entrances. Coupled with what was apparently a Starkhaven fashion of painting the houses white, the whole neighborhood looked like a boneyard of giant animal skulls, surrounded by perfectly manicured landscaping.

“Pretty bones,” Hawke murmured, staring at each house as they passed it. “Do they just not realize… or not care?”

“Does it matter?” Sebastian asked, shivering, “It’s creepy. I always hated this place. I wanted to leave the second Mother moved us here from the Palace.”

“Why _did_ she move?”

Sebastian laughed hollowly, then covered his mouth as though surprised that it had come out. Muffled a little, he said, “She was worried about us getting caught in an assassination attempt on my father.”

“Unfortunate,” Hawke remarked. The carriage stopped, pulled up outside a two-level house surrounded by a hedge fence shaped into waves. “You need a minute?”

“I would need a lifetime to prepare myself for this,” Sebastian said, “But I only have the one, so let’s go.”

“We’ll have someone out to unload the cart shortly,” Hawke told Holt, and followed Sebastian up to the door.

Once there, Sebastian hesitated - did he knock on his own door, or walk right in? - and the dilemma was solved for him when the door was flung open and a middle-aged man in servant’s livery peered out to ask, “Is that Little Bass?”

Sebastian flushed and offered a weak, “Hello, Nigel.”

“It is!” Nigel exclaimed. He leaned back into the house and shouted, at full bellowing volume, “Everyone! Bass isn’t dead, and he’s _here_!”

“Uh,” Sebastian said, as the pounding of many feet came rushing from within the house. “Who all is here?”

“All the house’s usual staff - the cook and the maid, you remember Edie and Bria? - plus a few who feared for their lives after the assassinations, for being too loyal to your family.”

The servants appeared whispering behind Nigel, jostling each other in the narrow entry hall to each get a look at Sebastian.

“The Prince has come back!” One voice rose above the rest, a woman’s exultant cry, “He’ll get that usurper off the throne!”

Sebastian closed his eyes and swallowed thickly. Hawke put a hand on his shoulder and propelled him gently into the house.

* * *

“Leave us alone for a little while,” Hawke ordered Nigel, pushing Sebastian ahead of him into a dark and cozy sitting room. “Keep the rest of them off of him, and spread the word that Sebastian is just here right now to reconnect with his city.”

Nigel looked at Sebastian for a moment, waiting for an agreeing nod that didn’t come because Sebastian was too far into his own head to notice. He sighed and said to Hawke, “Very well, Serah…?”

“Garret Hawke,” Hawke introduced. He nodded at Fenris, tilting his head towards Nigel, and then turned into the room and closed the door behind himself, leaving Fenris alone with Nigel.

“What’s your name?” Nigel asked, realizing that this elf was probably some kind of bodyguard. Good for Sebastian to pick up a couple of those, after what happened to the rest of his family.

“Fenris,” the elf said shortly, in a surprisingly deep voice. “I belong to Master Hawke.”

Nigel’s eyebrows went up as he reassessed. Not bodyguards, but… friends of some sort? Hopefully not like the friends little Bass used to make. “Did he want you to do something for him?” That head-tilt could have meant anything, as far as Nigel could tell.

“He just wants me to learn about how the house works and report it back to him,” Fenris supplied easily. If he was supposed to be spying on the household, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

Fenris appeared to read this thought off of Nigel’s unguarded expression, and added, “I am trained as a bodyguard. I will mostly assess threats and points of entry into the house.”

“So… you _are_ Bass’ bodyguard?” Nigel asked, confused.

Fenris didn’t say that he cared for Sebastian’s life only in that the loss of it would probably inconvenience Hawke, although he thought it. “No. I belong to Master Hawke. For as long as he remains near Sebastian, he is in danger from Sebastian’s enemies as well as his own.”

“I see,” said Nigel, who plainly did not. “Well, I’ll show you the house, shall I? The others should have your carriage unloaded by now - did you want to pick a room?”

“How many guest rooms do you have?” Fenris asked, “And are there any without windows?”

“One - the smallest. I can have them bring - ”

“Not for Hawke.” Fenris interrupted. “For Sebastian. An assassin trying to kill him in this house would most likely assume that he sleeps in the master bedroom, which presumably has its own windows, and thus enter there. Not only that, but he is accustomed to a small, largely unadorned room in the Chantry. Hawke and I will take whatever room faces the street.”

“Wow, you really know this bodyguarding stuff,” Nigel observed, impressed. He flagged down a passing runner - one of the servants’ children - and gave him the message for the footmen to bring their luggage to Fenris’ chosen rooms.

“You want to see something else next?” Nigel asked, eager to learn more from this bodyguard.

“The kitchen and its staff,” Fenris decided. “And tell me when they were hired, and whether any have debts or favors owed outside the family.”

* * *

Sebastian calmed down as Hawke cajoled him into talking about Starkhaven as he remembered it: his favorite public gardens and restaurants, the best taverns for different drinks, his favorite market stalls to get sweets from.

“I don’t know if she’s still in business,” Sebastian said, eyes glazed as he looked deep into his past, “But there was this old woman, everybody called her Grandmother, who used to sell these amazing glazed rolls with different fillings. Other people tried to copy hers, but they were never as good as the original.”

“You should show us around the town after lunch,” Hawke suggested. “I’m sure Fenris has the servants sorting out our luggage by now, I can change out of these travel clothes and we can go out.”

“They’ll put me in the master bedroom, I bet,” Sebastian said, beginning to turn morose again. “I can’t… I remember my mother….”

“It’s your house, Sebastian,” Hawke reminded him, “You can tell them to move your stuff to wherever. But aside from that, I think Fenris knows your preferences. He probably told them to put you somewhere else.”

Sebastian looked much too relieved to hear that, his expression lightening again.

Nigel and Fenris returned from their tour just as Hawke poked his head out of the sitting room door to look for a servant to fetch them. Fenris nodded once at Hawke’s questioning look, confirming that he was satisfied and everything had been taken care of.

“Nigel! A quick lunch, if you please, and then we’ll be going out for the evening.” Hawke beamed at the steward, who smiled back slowly. These men with Tevinter accents were strange, but the human one seemed friendly enough.

Nigel had Bria take them a plate of cold sandwiches Edie had put together, all the while fretting that she wasn’t prepared for the master of the house to return so suddenly. He was standing by the door, watching Sebastian with an accidentally hungry expression where he sat stiffly, when Sebastian looked to him and asked, “How are you all being paid, still?”

Nigel froze. Little Bass had been a carefree, arrogant boy, but kindhearted at the center of it; still, nobles could grow up into strange and vicious creatures. Carefully he replied, “Your mother had given me power to draw on the family’s vaults, for house expenses while she stayed with your father in the palace. We did not know if you would return to Starkhaven, so I decided to keep the staff on until we had word. The palace staff are still being paid from the palace funds, since they work there but live here.”

Sebastian nodded and went back to his introspection, looking moodily down at the sandwich he was picking at. Hawke tilted his head towards Nigel and said quietly, “You’ve done good work here, don’t worry about Sebastian getting angry over it. He’s just a little preoccupied right now.”

“Sir,” Nigel paused, considering if he really wanted to ask this or not, “Will Messere Sebastian be staying? Will he take the throne back from that awful cousin of his?”

Hawke sighed, flicking a glance toward Sebastian. “I really don’t know,” he replied. “But I have hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book series was Tamora Pierce's Tortall books, specifically the Beka Cooper series. One of the city districts, the fancy one, is called Prettybone, for less good reason than I've given here. If the nickname for Sebastian disturbs you, don't worry about it, he'll never be called that outside of these Starkhaven chapters probably.


	27. dinner at the palace

The invitation to join the Prince for dinner came the next morning, after their first evening in town had been spent showing Hawke and Fenris around the streets of Starkhaven to all of Sebastian’s old haunts - the ones he wasn’t now ashamed of, which excluded the brothels and one opiate den.

“I don’t want to go,” Sebastian said immediately. “I don’t want to see him.”

The man his family’s killer had put on the throne so that she could play at ruling a city, now sitting where Sebastian’s father had sat.

“Really?” Hawke asked. “After everything we saw yesterday, you don’t have a word to say to this pretender-Prince?”

Sebastian scowled as he remembered the streets without guardsmen, the unkempt and half-rotted houses in the alienage, the empty streets of the Prettybone district as the majority of the city was kept away from it. “What good would it do?”

“You don’t know what good it might do because you haven’t even tried,” Hawke pointed out. “It’s just supper. Attend, get a feel for the man. He’s new to power, perhaps he will yet grow into it - but you won’t be able to tell if you just avoid him the whole time you’re here. He might not even know what his Guard Captain is doing with the guard.”

Hawke was fairly certain the man had to know what the Captain was doing, but Sebastian didn’t need to realize that yet. The harder the shock, when it came, the greater chance that it would spur the man into action.

“Fine,” Sebastian agreed, with great reluctance. “We’ll eat dinner with him at the palace. I don’t want to see him after that.”

“Don’t look like that,” Hawke said, reaching out to poke one corner of Sebastian’s mouth into a forced smile. Sebastian pulled back with a squawking sound, nearly tipping his chair over.

“Have you no boundaries, man?” Sebastian demanded, overridden by Hawke’s blithe tone, “It won’t be that bad. Political maneuvering can be fun, you know. I can teach you! I’m a great teacher, ask Feynriel.”

Sebastian spread his hands around the dining room table, indicating that there was no Feynriel nearby to ask.

“He is not a bad teacher,” Fenris commented instead, grinning down at his breakfast as he heard Hawke’s offended noise. “His sister Bethany is much better.”

“You have a sister?” Sebastian asked. “Is she like you?”

Hawke started ticking off fingers on each hand, “Well, not a magister, not a man, is a mage, is a Hawke; really, you could say either way.”

“I meant,” Sebastian waved his hand in a broad circle around Hawke, “Is she… like you.”

Hawke continued to look confused by this questioning. Fenris answered instead, “She is strong-willed and cheerful, but those are the only traits she shares with Master Hawke.”

“Thank the Maker,” Sebastian murmured under his breath.

Hawke’s eyes lit up. “You should meet her! If you _were_ going to look for a woman to run your life for you, Bethany’s the lady you want.”

Sebastian choked and had to cough for a moment before he asked, rough-voiced, “Are you trying to pimp your sister out to me?” He realized how crass that had been and added, “I mean, not - please don’t?”

Privately, every sane part of his mind and the little Elthina voice in his head all screamed that he should never lay with someone who shared blood with Hawke.

Hawke waved away all of Sebastian’s protests easily, smiling at the thought: Bethany would have so much fun with this man; she always liked the ones she could break.

“Come on, little Bass,” Hawke’s eyes glittered with mischief as he used Sebastian’s childhood nickname, “You still have some bits of Starkhaven to show me. For example: where’s the seediest, scummiest bar? I need to find Starkhaven’s Varric.”

* * *

Sebastian led Hawke to the bar, but refused to go in. Hawke figured he was afraid of a spontaneous relapse or something of the sort and didn’t press it, but he did note it down to think about later. Once inside, Fenris hung back and watched from an out-of-the-way corner, ready to step in if it looked like trouble, but far enough away that the two of them together didn’t spook anyone.

Starkhaven’s Varric, as far as Hawke could tell, was a cheap knock-off human version, but he got the job done. He was able to put Hawke in touch with something called a Red Jenny, which seemed to be a creature of debatable existence common to most southern cities.

“I’ll ask Jenny about yer book,” Not-Varric, known to his friends as Parick, told Hawke in a delightfully growly voice. He was smoking a pipe and had a large double-bladed axe leaning against his chair. Hawke thought he was trying too hard to be Varric. “But she don’t help nobles or rich folk without getting something in return, if she ‘elps at all. She always wants a down payment, and the rest comes later.”

“What’s the down payment,” Hawke asked wearily, mentally counting his coinpurse. Information never came cheap, but _Varric_ had never outright charged him. Another strike against Not-Varric.

“Your names.” Parick saw that he’d lost Hawke. Clarifying, “Your name, weird noble titles, and aliases you use.”

“That’s a full fucking payment you’re asking for,” Hawke growled. “Fine. Magister Garret Hawke, of the Minrathous Circle, formerly of the Seheron Circle, son of Malcolm Hawke of Kirkwall’s Circle, son of Leandra Amell of Kirkwall. Is that enough, or do you want the full list of grandparents as well?”

Not-Varric took a meditative drag on his pipe for a long moment, staring at Hawke with an unreadable expression. “That should be enough to satisfy her… Magister. How’s a Magister got a Marcher’s pedigree?”

“Killed some people,” Hawke replied shortly. “I’ll be back here in three days.”

He left the bar - called the Dog House, for reasons Hawke wasn’t questioning - and rejoined Sebastian outside with Fenris just a step behind.

“Did you get what you needed?” Sebastian asked, beginning to walk down the street towards Prettybone again.

“I’ve got someone looking into it,” Hawke replied. “Now, what were you planning to wear to dinner tonight?”

Sebastian told him, and Hawke let his horror show on his face. He pulled aside the next well-dressed woman they passed and demanded of her, “My lady, please, it’s a desperate emergency - where is the best tailor in town, who can work on short notice?”

Flustered by both the urgency in Hawke’s tone and his clearly Tevinter accent, she stammered, “There’s Miss Lalasa, down on Greenstone Lane, and there’s more tailors along that street if she won’t do it.”

“Thank you very much, you’ve saved my poor friend here,” Hawke patted the startled Sebastian’s shoulder heavily, and then began dragging him down the street at a fast pace again.

“Wait,” Sebastian said, and then louder, “Hawke, wait! Greenstone is _that_ way!”

“Couldn’t navigate his way out of a linen sack with holes in it,” Fenris muttered as he followed the two-man show.

* * *

With Sebastian in fine clothes of the latest Starkhaven fashions, he and his companions rode up into the palace courtyard in a carriage again. Sebastian stared at the massive oak doors like a man staring at the gallows and the noose made for his neck.

“Come on, Sebastian,” Hawke said softly, conscious of curious eyes as he stood on the bottom step and pulled the other man out after him. Fenris was already on the ground, wary gaze flicking around for threats and servants staring too openly. Hawke grabbed Sebastian’s arm in a warrior’s hold, rather than something one would use on the infirm or reluctant, trying to make it look less like he had to force Sebastian to get him moving.

“You could walk into your house,” Hawke muttered to him, “You can do this too.”

“I used to play with my brothers out here,” Sebastian said faintly back, leaning on Hawke perhaps a bit too much. “Hawke, being here… I keep thinking any minute one of my brothers is going to come around a corner, or I’ll turn and my father will be there ready to disapprove of something I’m doing again. I can’t do this.”

Hawke laid a hand on Sebastian’s shoulder, one finger shifted to touch the bare skin on his neck. Strengthening the mind was the exact opposite of his entropy tree, so it still came easier to him than something unrelated like creation, and he sent a calming, bolstering spell through the contact. Sebastian straightened instantly, eyes opening wide; after a moment he inhaled sharply and looked over at Hawke.

“Yeah, that was me,” Hawke said.

“Thank you,” Sebastian murmured, and then greeted the steward who had finally reached them.

“Messere Sebastian,” the steward said with a bow. “If you like, I will show you to your cousin. The court awaits your presence in the great hall. These are your guests?”

“Garrett Hawke, and my servant Fenris,” Hawke introduced himself, not wanting Sebastian to accidentally give out more information than he was comfortable with here. He had none of the usual protections from the Templar Order in Starkhaven, and far fewer allies. “Friends of Serah Vael.”

The steward didn’t blink, just nodded and led them to the great hall with hardly another word.

“Please be careful,” Fenris requested in a low voice, leaning in to Hawke as the steward motioned for the guards to open the hall doors, and announced Hawke and Sebastian’s names. “Don’t antagonize anyone into killing you while I’m not there.”

“Yes, mother,” Hawke said, smiling at him. “Now go on and make nice with the kitchen staff. I have my antidotes, but I’d rather not have to use them.”

“And to think I’d hoped to avoid the threat of poisoning entirely when we left the Imperium,” Fenris muttered as he followed the steward away. Eventually the man noticed, and looking down his nose at Fenris asked, “You will be serving your master at dinner?”

“Master Hawke and Messere Vael both.” Fenris told him, keeping his tone neutral. He had never thought he’d miss the fearful respect he got from slaves and servants in the Imperium, but here he was, being talked down to by a human and wanting to put a hand on his heart just to warn him to watch his tone.

“There are servants enough here to serve our own Messere Vael,” the steward said, scowling.

“That’s good for you,” Fenris said, implacable, “But none of them will be serving him, and you will not be able to stop me from doing so.”

The man colored, his lips pursing in anger. “Are you threatening me? I can have the guard here and you thrown back in the alienage in moments, elf.”

Fenris sighed and pushed past him, determined to simply open doors until he found the kitchens.

Back in the great hall, Hawke had managed to herd Sebastian into and out of two different conversations already, mostly introducing the rightful heir around to people who had thought him dead. He had yet to spot Goran Vael, the pretender prince, but it should only be a matter of time unless the Prince meant to avoid his court until dinner was served in the adjoining dining hall.

“I hate mingling,” Sebastian muttered as Hawke steered him away from the path of three matchmaking aunts.

“Nonsense,” said Hawke, “You just haven’t got the hang of it yet. It’s very fun when you come equipped with the right tools. For example, as Prince, you’d presumably have a spymaster who would tell you all sorts of filthy secrets about these people, and you’d get to hint at it subtly that you know those secrets and watch them sweat about it.”

Sebastian turned a surprised look on Hawke and offered cautiously, “That does sound like fun. But what if they don’t have any filthy secrets?”

“Then you’re not looking hard enough,” Hawke replied with a firm nod. “Or you’ve found the next Andraste. One thing to remember about power, Sebastian: It never comes easily, and it usually leaves a body count somewhere.”

“And you _like_ this,” Sebastian muttered disbelievingly.

Hawke shrugged. “Keeps things interesting.”

The bells rang, and the row of doors into the dining hall were drawn open by servants, beginning the flow of nobles and courtiers out to the tables. Sebastian and Hawke, as guests of the Prince, had namecards set up at his table, perpendicular to his seat and next to each other.

“Deep breath,” Hawke told Sebastian, and spelled him again. Sebastian sighed with relief as his doubts banished themselves and his mind cleared of the encroaching memories - he stopped reliving the time he’d drawn a young noblewoman into that alcove by the doors and kissed her against the wall, and been yanked out of it by his furious mother.

“I could really get used to that,” Sebastian said, proceeding into the dining hall and up to the Prince’s table.

“I’ll only be doing it for tonight,” Hawke warned. “It can be… addictive, and it’s not helping you deal with your feelings of grief, just suppressing them for the moment while we deal with the current dangers.”

Sebastian’s steps didn’t falter when they got close enough that he could clearly see Goran Vael already seated at the head of the table, but that was likely only because Hawke had just refreshed his spell. His spine was stiff when he sat, and he managed only a cold, unfeeling smile at the Prince.

“Sebastian,” Goran greeted. Hawke’s dislike intensified immediately: Goran spoke with a noticeable nasally tone, something that could be fixed or modulated by anyone who cared to sound less whining, and that he didn’t indicated to Hawke a certain lack of dedication to leadership. “And your guest is… Serah Hawke, correct?”

“Garrett Hawke,” Sebastian introduced. “A friend from Kirkwall. I’m showing him around Starkhaven while we’re in town, in return for a favor he did for me.”

“What kind of favor does a Chantry Brother need done?” Goran asked, picking up his wine glass as soon as the servant behind his shoulder was done pouring it.

Hawke glanced up at Fenris as he poured his, catching his eye and getting a confirming nod in return. All was well so far.

“I’m not a Brother yet, actually,” Sebastian said, not touching his own wine. “Hawke helped me to kill the people who murdered my family, both the mercenary company and the family who ordered it.”

Goran put his glass down heavily, looking at Sebastian with surprise. “The - He - well, that is a good friend indeed. How did you meet?”

“I answered his Chanter’s Board request,” Hawke replied easily. “It was good fun - a nice Satinday outing, sunny, chance of blood spatter.”

_Don’t ask him about the Harimanns at dinner_ , Hawke had instructed Sebastian before they left the house. _Whatever his answer, you can’t act on it until later, and it will only distract you._

Sebastian enjoyed the way Goran paled at Hawke’s words, all the blood and wine-flush leaving his face. Sebastian had been away from Starkhaven for years, growing into a man in circumstances unknown to anyone outside of his family. They said he’d been in the Chantry, but who had checked? Who really knew if that was where he’d been? And now he came home in the presence of what appeared to be a Tevinter mercenary.

Goran changed the subject, talking quickly about the harvest and the city. That proved quickly to be another minefield for him, as far as Sebastian was concerned:

“The guardsman I spoke to on the road here said that you’ve pulled most of the guard off the streets and have them patrolling the palace and the alienage instead. Why the change?”

Goran shrugged, becoming more comfortable as he realized Sebastian wasn’t going to press him about the assassination of the other Vaels. “I’m only being more efficient with the guard, so that we can downsize the amount we have to pay out of the treasury. The criminals are mostly coming out of the alienage, so we keep them in there, and they mostly target the wealthy, so we keep them out of that neighborhood. It’s allowed us to let go of about half the guards, and I’ve heard no complaints.”

_Probably because you don’t listen to anyone without a title or enough money to make you open your ears_ , Hawke thought, anger flashing through him.

“And what of the poor who suffer because of your choice?” Sebastian demanded, “They have no presence of law to keep them safe!”

“Safe!” Goran laughed. “They are the ones breaking the law! They get what they sow, nothing less or more. It’s the Chantry’s lookout to take care of the sick and the poor, not for me to dole out coin after coin to those who take it and take more behind my back.”

Sebastian opened his mouth and closed it, realizing that there were so many words that wanted to come out, he didn’t know how to put them in order. Hawke kicked his shin lightly and pressed his lips together pointedly when Sebastian glanced over at him.

Goran noticed Sebastian’s disapproving silence after a moment, remembered that Sebastian had a much better claim to the throne than he did, and offered in a conciliatory tone, “The guard does still patrol the streets, just not so much as they used to. The merchants and the nobles, the ones who bring real wealth into the city, they all agree they feel much safer with the guards more concentrated on them.”

Sebastian trembled with anger so badly, Hawke felt it through the table. He cast a quick calming spell, cooling the fire in Sebastian's eyes; the man relaxed visibly, blinking. There would be a clear wall in his mind where he could see the righteous anger but not feel it, allowing him unclouded thought.

"After the meal, Goran," Sebastian said, his tone unnaturally even and calm - almost like a Tranquil, Hawke thought with some disgust - "I would like to speak with you in private."

Goran's smile was pleasantly confused. "As you like, cousin."

The Prince spent the rest of his dinner talking to his guest sitting on his other side, and the man beside her. Hawke didn't taste a single bite of what was probably a delicious meal, preoccupied with keeping one eye on Sebastian and one ear tuned to the other conversations. As expected, a lot of them featured speculation about Sebastian and his guest.

After the dinner plates had been cleared away, Goran stood and motioned for Sebastian to follow him. He frowned when he saw Hawke behind Sebastian, and didn't even notice Fenris stepping away from his watchpost against the wall to shadow Hawke.

Goran led them to a private study upstairs and down a long hall, the floor covered in a lush red carpet and furnished by three armchairs. Only when they had all entered did he realize the elven servant was not one of his.

"What's this about, Sebastian?" Goran asked, eyes flicking nervously from Hawke to Fenris.

"How were the kitchens?" Hawke asked Fenris, leaving Goran to Sebastian for the moment.

"Crowded and hectic," Fenris shrugged, "But no one tried to get at your dishes after I had them in hand. If there was an assassin waiting for Sebastian here tonight, he didn't try to poison you."

"Poison!" Goran exclaimed, "Sebastian, I don't know what your friends are on about, but my staff would never!"

"Did you know?" Sebastian asked, stepping right into Goran's personal space, eyes narrow as he searched the other man's face for any sign of deception.

"Did - did I know what?" Goran asked, leaning back. He'd stood near one of the armchairs, prepared to sit, and had nowhere to retreat to, so he leaned back awkwardly to have room to breathe.

"Johane Harimann," Sebastian spat, grabbing the front of Goran's brocade doublet, " _Did you know_."

"I - I don't - " Goran stuttered, trying to lie, and Hawke released his miasma for a moment, touching him with a shred of overwhelming fear. He began to shake. "I didn't, I didn't know when it happened!"

Sebastian hissed a breath out through clenched teeth. "But you knew later, didn't you."

"She c-contacted me. I swear, Sebastian, I didn't have anything to do with their deaths. I didn't even like Johane!"

"But you still benefit from their deaths," Sebastian said bitterly, finally releasing his cousin. "And you continue to benefit from the suffering and oppression of my people!"

Face red, Goran drew himself up and smoothed out the front of his doublet. "You cannot accost me like this in my own palace. You were gone, so I am the Prince of Starkhaven now. They are _my_ people."

"You're the prince of a sandcastle built at low tide," Sebastian snarled. "Any man with eyes not blinded by gold coins can see that your actions are killing this city."

"You lost your chance. Now will you leave peacefully or will I have to call the guard?" Goran smiled meanly. "I'm sure they'd love to walk you around one last time, for old time's sake."

Sebastian went pale, and his expression twisted from anger to pure and ugly hatred. In a movement so fast that neither Goran nor Hawke could stop him, he drew back one fist and landed an uppercut to the Prince's jaw with every ounce of archer's strength in his arms.

There was a sick crack of bone breaking as Goran lifted off his feet and landed back sideways in one of the armchairs, out cold, jaw hanging loosely open. Hawke stared, wide-eyed.

Sebastian shook out his fist and said with relief, "Maker, that felt good."

"That was... impressive," Hawke offered, pushing Sebastian carefully out of his way as he leaned over Goran. The man's legs were over one arm of the chair and his head tilted back over the other, arms trapped beneath him and hanging over the edge of it. "But not advisable."

He pried Goran's mouth open and checked inside, humming thoughtfully. Fenris went to the door and peeked out, making sure they were still being left alone. That crack felt like it could have been heard through the whole palace, although logically he knew the sound probably hadn't even left the room.

"No teeth broken, that's good," Hawke diagnosed. "But this jaw is broken, and he's bit the side of his tongue something bloody. Fuck, I hate creation magic. Makes my teeth itch."

"You're going to heal him?" Sebastian asked. "Why?"

Hawke nodded. "Heal him up, wash the taste of blood out, and leave him in here under a sleep spell with a few empty bottles of wine and a glass in his hand. He'll wake up tomorrow and think he drank himself into a blackout after you left, with any luck. That's definitely a concussion, and those usually come with memory loss and a bad headache, just like hangovers."

"To what end?" Sebastian demanded. "I did it, it felt good, I'd do it again. He's a sniveling cockroach of a man, always skittering around the edges of powerful people trying to snatch something for himself."

"Yes, but when I have him killed, I'd like for suspicion not to fall on you," Hawke said patiently.

Sebastian grimaced.

"Oh, come on now," Hawke said, hand glowing as he held the man's jaw together to heal properly, "You've killed the rest of the plotters, he's the last link. With this one dead, you can finally put them to rest. And it's easier for you to come to power if people don't think you killed your temporary replacement."

Sebastian sighed heavily and sank back into another armchair. "You still want me to be the Prince."

Hawke gestured around them with a bemused look. "Is there anyone else you trust to do it instead? The people need a leader, Sebastian. You may not like it, but you are the best option for them."

"I wouldn't be a good leader, Hawke," Sebastian brought his hands up and scrubbed at his face tiredly, then pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and kept them there. "I'm not like you; it doesn't come naturally to me."

"Cheer up," Hawke told him, reaching over to clap him on the knee for a moment. "There's no one else like me."

Sebastian laughed tiredly and said, "Thank the Maker for that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ends the wonderful Starkhaven vacation. Sebastian wasn't supposed to punch Goran, but then it just kinda happened in the moment (both for him and for me writing him) and I rolled with it.


	28. keeping secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you see anything weird about the writing, spelling grammar etc, I've basically stopped giving these things any more than a skimming read-through.

“Messere Hawke!” Arianni greeted them at the door to Hawke’s house with surprised happiness. “You’re back early. How was Starkhaven?”

“Delightful,” Hawke said with a grin, “But we had to leave town rather abruptly after Sebastian punched out the Prince.”

“Oh,” she said uncertainly.

“It’s all good, though,” Hawke continued, “We staged it so he should think it was a bad night of drinking for him. We just left in case he had other thoughts about it.”

“That’s nice,” Arianni said to him, and then in a quiet aside to Fenris, who was still working on unloading Hawke’s bags, asked, “Should I be worried?”

“No more so than usual,” Fenris muttered back. “You should have seen Sebastian hit him, though. It was very enjoyable.”

“I can’t even imagine Sebastian hitting someone,” Arianni admitted with a small laugh.

“Sebastian hit someone?” Merrill asked, appearing at the door to the library down the hall. “Was it Hawke?”

Hawke scowled. “No! It was the Prince of Starkhaven, that cousin of his who’s about to meet an expiration date.”

“Oh, is he ill? Sebastian shouldn’t have hit someone who’s ill, he ought to know better,” Merrill said reproachfully.

“He’s not ill,” exasperated, Hawke waved a hand. “I’m going to hire a Crow to take care of him for Sebastian.”

“What do crows have to do with it?” asked the increasingly confused Merrill.

“Antivan Crows are assassins renknowned around Thedas, Merrill,” Hawke explained. “Very good and very reliable. The only reason magisters aren’t dropping each other left and right in the Imperium is because any one with sense pays the Crows not to take a contract on them.”

“Even you?”

Hawke nodded, “Even me. My payment isn’t that large because my enemies are mostly the type who would prefer to keep things more personal than sending a Crow, but I do send them a yearly sum.”

“And wouldn’t this Prince Sebastian punched do the same?”

Hawke rocked his hand from side to side, mimicking the balance of a scale. “Maybe, but probably not. He’s being very careful to keep happy anyone who might have the money to hire a Crow.”

“Still, you preach at me about blood magic and then turn around an plot an assassination,” Merrill said, hands on her hips. “How’s that fair?”

“They’re not - Merrill,” Hawke’s tone turned almost whining when he said her name. “Those are not similar things and you know it.”

She grinned at him, the veneer of disapproval falling away. “I know, Hawke, you just worry about me.”

* * *

Hawke looked around the Hanged Man’s interior, glad to be back on familiar ground. Corff behind the bar, leaning with his chin in one hand and elbow braced on the counter, grunted at Hawke’s overly-cheerful greeting.

“Varric in?” Hawke asked brightly, undetterred.

“Fuck if I know,” Corff grumbled. “Dwarf’s put more holes in my building than the rats ever managed.”

“There’s rats here?” Hawke pretended to be shocked, placing a hand on his chest. Corff picked up and threw a bar nut at him, but it changed direction while in the air and started flying around buzzing instead.

“I’ll just go check then,” Hawke said, pulling Fenris along behind him when Fenris seemed more focused on trying to figure out what kind of insect that bar nut had turned out to be.

Hawke burst through the door to Varric’s rooms, booming, “Honey, I’m - ” and stopped in his tracks, his outspread arms falling back to his sides. “Home,” he finished faintly, staring at whatever was in the room.

Fenris darted past him, greatsword raised defensively and lyrium glowing brightly. At Varric’s gaming table sat the dwarf himself and Isabela, both bent over a map of Kirkwall’s above-ground streets. Fenris looked around quickly for a more evident threat and, finding none, slowly straightened out of his ready pose and let his lyrium go dark. He did not sheathe the greatsword, however.

“Varric, tell me I’m hallucinating,” Hawke said, his tone unnervingly pleasant.

Varric coughed into his hand and had the decency to look ashamed. “So, Hawke… you’re back early.”

“Varric, tell me that’s Isabela’s twin sister you rescued from a Chantry convent sitting there,” Hawke said, “And not Isabela, who you _know_ I’ve been looking for. Because if that is Isabela, it would mean that not one, but _two_ of my friends didn’t trust me.”

“Hawke, come on, that’s not - Hawke!” Varric called after him; Hawke had turned around in the doorway and was walking back down the stairs.

Fenris, for once, did not follow straight away. He liked Varric, and knew that Hawke didn’t really want to lose that friendship even for this, so he said, “He just needs to calm down. Come to the manor tonight and talk to him.” He looked over at Isabela, eyes narrowing a little - he hadn’t liked her very much after that first morning altercation they’d had, and after all of this he felt justified in it, but he told her, “You come too. Or the next time, he really will turn you in to the Qunari.”

He caught up to Hawke on the street outside, slowing down just outside the range of the violently red mist that was boiling off of Hawke’s skin. The miasma was usually invisible and undetectable outside of the feelings it incurred, but when Hawke couldn’t keep it reined it, he let it out to just the surface of his skin and it condensed into this.

Fenris reached out to Hawke, past the primal horror he felt when the red mist touched his skin, past the memories of suffering it awoke, and took his hand. When Hawke regained enough of his senses to look over at him, Fenris said softly, “They do not know what they did.”

Hawke snorted and said bitterly, “I suppose if you’re defending them, they must be sorry.”

The red miasma began to dissipate, taking with it the tension from Fenris’ shoulders. “They don’t know what keeping secrets like this means to you,” Fenris told him.

“If I stayed in there - ” Hawke sighed hugely, reaching out automatically and running his fingers through Fenris’ hair. “It would not have ended well. I can’t even go back right now, I’m still thinking about it.” As evidence, a trickle of the red mist dripped off of his palm and slid down his fingers. He waved it away irritably.

“Fuck, there goes my plans for the rest of the day,” Hawke said with forced cheer. “What shall I do with myself?”

“Aveline does not yet know you are back in town,” Fenris suggested. “Or we could see how operations are going at the mine or one of the shops you’ve invested in.”

Hawke brightened truly this time. “I could surprise Aveline!”

“If you leap out at her from behind a door, she will attack you,” Fenris told him dryly, following as he began to make his way to the Viscount’s Keep.

“That’s fine, I’ll put up a shield.”

Fenris rolled his eyes up to the sky and muttered, “He never makes it easy.”

* * *

Hawke’s visit with Aveline left him in a good mood and her with an exhausted appreciation of Fenris’ unending patience. She was happy to hear about Hawke’s trip in detail simply because any time he spent talking to her was less time he could be out causing trouble in the city.

“Sebastian punched his cousin?” she demanded, after Hawke had mimicked with delight the cracking sound Goran’s jaw had made.

“It was more of a crunch, actually,” Fenris corrected, sitting back in his chair across Aveline’s desk with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.

“Definitely a crack, like,” Hawke made the sound with his mouth again.

“I’ve broken jaws before, and you’re both wrong, it’s like this wet snapping - ” Aveline made a noise herself. “But anyway - Sebastian, punching someone? Serah High and Mighty? I have to meet this Goran person.”

“I had to stop myself from murdering him at least three times over dinner,” Hawke confided, leaning forward to fiddle with some trinkets on Aveline’s desk. “It seemed like every time he opened his mouth he wanted to dig his grave a little deeper. All this talk about the guards being cut down and concentrated on the problem areas - Aveline, he was just protecting the rich and keeping the elves in the alienage! The rest of his city is rotting around him, but his nose is so high in the air he can’t even smell it.”

“It’s not right,” Aveline growled, “But I can swear that Kirkwall won’t get like that under my watch.”

Hawke snorted. “There’s no chance of that anyway. That would require Dumar to actually make a decision or do something, and anyone who knows the man will tell you that he doesn’t do that. He takes no sides, no positions, and no initiative. I’ve got a nug at home with more balls than that man, and it’s a female nug.”

“What’s a nug?” Aveline asked, then remembered, “Oh, those weird… hairless rats?”

“I’d call it more like a hairless rabbit, to be honest, but you’ve got the idea.” Hawke sighed, sprawling back in his chair. “But overall a fun vacation. I’m afraid I had to skip town before an informant could get back to me with some information, but if he’s any good he’ll be able to track me down. Have you ever heard of a Red Jenny?”

“Someone’s been telling you ghost stories,” Aveline said wryly. “That’s the name people use when they mess with the nobility and the wealthier merchants. It’s an urban legend, a face everyone knows to hide behind when they kill a noble or steal something from them, things like that. The investigations usually get nowhere, being all muddled up in past cases.”

“Well, the man I met in Starkhaven seemed pretty convinced he knew a person… or being who went by the name. He wasn’t really clear on it.” Hawke tapped his chin meditatively. “I should probably have asked more questions, really - but this book thing is going too long. I’m getting a bit desperate, Ave.”

“You know I’ve got my guards keeping their ears and eyes open,” Aveline told him. “They’ll bring it to me if they find the Tome. They don’t like the Qunari being here either.”

Hawke grinned. “Plus there’s that monetary reward I offered for whoever finds it. Pays out about half of what you could probably get from the right buyer - but it’s all legal and there’s no fucking around with trying to keep it secret.”

“Stop trying to buy my guards,” Aveline commanded grouchily, pointing at him with the back end of a fountain pen.

Hawke raised his hands innocently, smiling wide at her as he suggested, “Stop hiring attractive guards?”

She threw the pen at him. “That wasn’t what I meant and you know it!”

* * *

Hawke looked down at Fenris when they heard the knock on the front door, his gaze turned glaring after a moment.

“You told them to come tonight, didn’t you?” he accused, nudging Fenris with one foot.

Fenris put aside his short letter to Varania and leaned his head against Hawke’s knee, blinking guilelessly up at him. He only kept it up for a few seconds before he smiled slightly and nodded.

Hawke huffed and set aside his reading, poking Fenris with his toes again. “Come on, get up,” he said, as the sounds of Arianni greeting someone at the door filtered through to them in the sitting room. “You know it freaks them out when you sit on the floor.”

Fenris frowned. “Do you not think they can stand to be a little freaked out?”

Slowly, a devilish smile spread across Hawke’s face. “You know, you’ve got a point.”

When Arianni opened the door to let Varric and Isabela into the sitting room, the scene opened out onto Hawke sitting in his favorite chair by the fire and Fenris at his feet, looking quite comfortable to be there.

“Hawke,” Varric greeted cautiously. “I think we owe you an explanation.”

Hawke’s impassive gaze flicked from Varric to Isabela, assessing. After that long pause, he nodded to Arianni to leave and indicated the two other armchairs opposite his with a gesture.

“I assume you’re still looking for the Tome,” Hawke said, when they had both sat down. Isabela was frowning at Fenris, but that was typical for her. “Or else both Isabela and the Qunari would be gone.”

“Izzy came to me the day you left,” Varric said. “Not a coincidence. She hoped that with her knowledge and my connections, we could find the Tome or at least come up with a good lead on it by the time you were back.”

“I didn’t want to come to you with nothing,” Isabela said, leaning in earnestly.

“Why did you run in the first place?” Hawke asked, his tone neutral. “Why not tell me and ask for my help?”

Isabela laughed. “Maker, Hawke, how could I? I’d no way to know which way you’d jump if I told you the whole story. You change personalities more than a lady changes clothes - would I get the nice friendly Hawke who helps strangers on the street, the madman who rips blood mages and mercenaries apart, that fucking scary one who threatens people into doing as he wants? I’ve no way of knowing, and no reason to risk it. Not then.”

Hawke was silent for a long minute, one hand falling to pet through Fenris’ hair as he thought. Fenris watched the other two out of the corner of his eye, especially the way Varric’s eyes followed the movement of Hawke’s hand.

“Have I ever given you reason to think I’d be cruel to you?” Hawke asked, finally. “No, that’s not the right question. This is the same issue I had with Anders, I think: you don’t understand me and I don’t understand you because we come from different places. You see that I react to the same things differently and it seems unpredictable to you, and I forget that this isn’t like the Imperium and that the people here don’t always understand my motivations.

“I gave you reason to think I’d be cruel because I have been to others, correct?” Hawke waited for Isabela to nod. “But they were not - ” he made an annoyed sound. “There isn’t a good word for it in trade, or at least not one I know. They were not my people, I didn’t care about them. You are.”

Isabela interrupted, “You hardly know me, though. We’ve had some fun and adventures together, but I’ve known people longer and through more who put a knife in my back for the right amount of coin. You’re no thief, but all that tells me is that it might not be simple coin that buys you.”

“My friends are like family to me, Isabela,” Hawke spread his hands out in front of him. “I would help with whatever you brought to me. I do not like it when my people keep problems like this from me.”

“I did notice,” Varric said, his tone dry. “Based on some subtle cues I was picking up, y’know.”

“Subtle, right,” Hawke’s laugh was subdued. He looked down at Fenris, weighing his options; but Isabela had said that she didn’t feel like she knew him, which meant this could all have been avoided if he kept fewer things so close to his chest. Did he trust them like he wanted them to trust him?

Hawke took a deep breath. “But my reaction was partially rooted in some things that have happened in my past. I don’t react well to the people I care about keeping secrets from me. It got both my father and my mother killed. I think I could have saved my mother, at least, and perhaps eased my father’s passing… but neither of them told me what was happening until it was far too late.”

“Ooh, backstory,” Varric said in a hushed voice, grinning and squirming into a more comfortable position on his armchair. Hawke sent him a small smile.

“My father spent most of his life on Seheron after he fled there with my mother from Kirkwall. He was a mage, which comes with some privelage in the Imperium, so he was granted land fairly easily and went to work farming it. In a few years, he had more land and wealth enough to buy people to work it for him so that he could focus on raising my siblings and me; apparently we were a handful.”

“You? Never,” Isabela scoffed.

Hawke smiled a little, but his eyes were still distant as he stared into the fire and through it to the past. "My father was a friendly man, always smiling, always ready to lend a helping hand even to complete strangers. It got him into trouble often, but never as bad as the last time... he found a wounded man in our orchard. He had some skill with creation magic, and a good heart, so he nursed the man back to health. His name was Aberos. He was - you don't need the whole thing, I suppose. I only knew him for a few months when I was home to help with the harvest, and then I went back to the Seheron Circle where I was finishing up my studies to be declared an adult mage under the Imperium's laws. When I went back to the Circle, he was healed and helping my family around the farm and the house, and I didn't hear anything more until I woke up in a dark room tied to a chair instead of in my bed at the Circle.

"I was questioned under truth spell about my family and my father, and what I knew about Aberos. What I knew about the Qunari and their Ben-Hassrath operations on Seheron, my allegiances to the Imperium and the Archon.... Aberos, they told me, had been a Ben-Hassrath spy. A Qunari convert. I had no idea of it, as the truth spell revealed, but my father had known and taken him in anyway. And when they let me out of that dark room, I found out he'd been killed.

"Mother was never the same after his death." Hawke smiled grimly. "She was good enough at raising us, but she never knew what to do when her children started acting like adults. When she grew sick, the Magisterium was in session and I was in Minrathous. The illness was slow but brutal; she didn't want to make a big deal about it, and wouldn't even let them contact me. Bethany got a message to me, and I arrived to see her one last time. She gave me a letter she'd received weeks ago, before she got sick, a ransom for her health in exchange for me casting my votes in the Magisterium a certain way. She told me she didn't want to make me choose between our goals and her life, and then she died."

Hawke was dry-eyed as he stared distantly into the fire. He'd cried rivers after his parents' deaths, and since then not at all. The old grief was still there but worn out with all that he'd obsessed over it when it happened, so that now it just ached and burned in a dull and familiar way.

There was silence from the audience he'd mostly forgotten about, until Varric asked, "Did you find the blood mage who killed her?"

Hawke looked up when a goblet of heated spiced wine entered his vision, the surface of it rippling as the hand holding it trembled. Arianni tried to smile at him, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. Hawke thanked her and sipped the wine for his dry throat.

"I did. He suffered, and admitted to practicing blood magic on the unwilling before the entire Magisterium. Later, he killed himself rather than be made Tranquil; he was quite ravening mad by that point. Haunted by the spirits he'd dealt with, they said."

"Sooooo," Isabela said, taking the wine out of Hawke's hand to drink half of it herself. "You've got a problem with secrets. That's understandable, I suppose."

Hawke shrugged, still not looking at them, and instead watched the progress of Fenris' finger as he traced the pattern in the leg of the armchair. "Not all secrets, just the ones liable to get people killed."

"Hard to distinguish sometimes," Varric pointed out.

"Can be," Hawke agreed. He finally met their eyes again. "So you two were putting your heads together to look for the Tome, did you come up with anything?"

Varric shook his head, "Some leads from Isabela that I can look into better than she could, but they haven't given out anything yet. We _were_ supposed to have three more days before you came back," this he added reproachfully.

Hawke made a 'tsk' sound with his tongue. "Excuses, excuses, Varric. I'm beginning to think you're not really as connected as you say you are!"

"I'll show you connected!" Varric exclaimed. "I _know_ you asked that hack Parick in Starkhaven to look into the Tome as well, and all he does is pass shit along to Starkhaven's Red Jenny! That's insulting, Hawke - _I_ know more about what goes on in Starkhaven than he does."

"Did you know that Sebastian punched out Goran Vael?" Hawke asked, beginning to smile.

"No," Varric's voice was delightedly hushed. "No, what? He didn't! Not our Sebastian. Tell us everything!"

"What'd he say?" Isabela demanded leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and head propped up against her folded hands. "Something impressive? Or more of that righteous shit he spouts?"

"He said," Hawke paused to get the voice and brogue right, tilting his head down and making a serious face. " _Maker, that felt good._ "

Isabela and Varric burst into peels of laughter, and even Fenris chuckled a little. He stood up and helped Arianni with the folding table for the bottle of wine and serving set she was carrying, and then came around to sit on the arm of Hawke's chair instead of the floor again, holding his own goblet and handing Hawke another to replace the one Isabela had stolen.

Hawke took it, smiling up at him for a moment. He turned back to the others, saying, "And no one even knows it happened, because I healed up his jaw and mocked it up to look like he just got drunk alone with a couple bottles of wine. Which, really, if he doesn't find it suspicious that he got black-out drunk alone, then he's got bigger problems than Sebastian punching him."

Varric nodded, raised his own drink, and toasted, "To never drinking alone!"


	29. a new Hawke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was done for a couple days before I posted it, because I'm not a huge fan of how it turned out... but I'm tired of rereading it and can't think of anything to change, so here you go!

“Someone at the door for you, Messere,” said Arianni. “Got a Tevinter accent, didn’t say his name.”

Hawke’s attention jerked up as fast as his head, eyebrows rising. The hand not holding his breakfast had been petting Dorothea the nug in his lap, and that stilled as well. “Was there anyone else with him?”

She frowned. “No, he’s alone. Should I send him away?”

Hawke looked over to Fenris, eating his breakfast in the armchair across from Hawke’s with his legs folded up underneath him. Fenris gave him a wry look, already having a good idea of who it was.

“Traveling alone, can’t be a magister,” Hawke surmised, “But from Tevinter and rather rude. Tall, wearing chainmail, probably angry?”

“You know him, then,” Arianni said, “Should I let him in?”

“Maker, no!” Hawke exclaimed.

Fenris said reproachfully, “Master.”

Hawke groaned and quickly stuffed the last bit of his breakfast in his mouth, which was really too large to be a single bite. Muffled, he said, “Fine, let’s go see him.”

Hawke stood, scooped Dorothea into the crook of one arm, and swept out the door trailing two elves at a slower pace. He heard Arianni ask Fenris quietly, “Who is this man, then?”

Hawke reached the front door before Fenris responded, pulling it open grandly and throwing open his arms although one remained half-bent to keep Dorothea secure. She blinked sleepily and wiggled her nose at the broad movements.

“Carver!” he exclaimed.

Carver took one look at the crumbs still in Hawke’s beard, Hawke’s pasted-on grin, the strange creature hanging off Hawke's arm, and said, “Know what, never mind, I’ll find an inn.”

“Get back here, brat,” Hawke growled, catching the strap of Carver’s shoulder-scabbard and reeling him into the house. “Carver, meet Arianni. She’s my Orana, basically. Arianni, this is Carver, my little brother.”

“Good to meet you, Messere,” Arianni greeted with a bow, her tone perfectly polite.

Carver went bright red, saying quickly, “Just Carver please. Unlike my brother, I don’t require any kind of special address.”

Arianni’s eyes flicked between the brothers, hesitant. Hawke took over, smacking Carver on the back of the head lightly. “I don’t _require_ it either, Carver, except in front of company we have to put on a certain face for. That’s just how people talk, you idiot.”

“Politics,” Carver sneered.

“Are what’s keeping me safe in this city,” Hawke finished for him. “So keep your mouth shut and your head down. What the fuck are you doing here, anyway? Bethy’s last letter said you were on the northern border, keeping an eye on the Qunari.”

“I’m here for a visit?” Carver tried, abruptly putting off waves of dishonesty. “I, uh, missed… you?”

Fenris observed, “It’s like you’re not even trying.”

Carver coughed and turned to him, “Fenris! How’s things?”

“Try again, Carver,” Hawke said, turning Carver back around.

Carver sighed. “Should move this out of the entryway. I doubt anyone’s listening at your front door, but this can’t get around.”

“In here,” Hawke said, waving them into the sitting room. “Arianni, something to drink? Coffee, right Carv?”

“That’s fine, yeah. Did Bethy tell you about my promotion?”

“No, but congratulations I suppose. What’s that got to do with this?”

“Well, it was - I got picked up by the Obscuri, about a year ago. Been doing some assignments for them since.” Carver looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck, refusing to see Hawke’s reaction. “And they know about the Qunari in Kirkwall, and I’m basically the only one in the Obscuri with a good reason to be in Kirkwall, since you’re here. So I’m down here to spy on the Qunari and figure out why they’re in Kirkwall, if there’s going to be some kind of Free Marches-Qunari alliance or a Kirkwall-Qunari alliance - basically the Imperium is really worried about Qunari being here for so long.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Hawke muttered absently, thoughts spinning. “I assume you weren’t really supposed to tell me all of this - Maker damn it, Carver, I could have used someone in the Obscuri! Do you have any information on what they think is going on in Seheron?”

“I _make_ the reports, I don’t _get_ them.” Carver corrected. “I didn’t want to tell you until I could actually do something to help. So far, the only thing I know is that they’re interested in sending me there next to see what the unrest is about, but they have other agents already in place.”

“Andraste’s knickers,” Hawke swore, “If there’s any way you can get the names or positions of any of those agents, it would really help.”

“You think I wasn’t already planning on that?” Carver snapped. 

Fenris made a clicking sound with his tongue behind Carver, a subtle signal for both of them to settle their tempers before it even got started. Carver and Hawke had always rubbed each other the wrong way, often over simple things that escalated before either realized it.

Carver took a deep breath, calming. “But that’s what I’m doing here. So, Garrett, any idea what the Qunari are doing in the city?”

Garrett’s expression turned grim. “I know exactly what they want here,” he said, “But I’m having trouble tracking it down, and the Imperium _cannot_ get their hands on it.”

* * *

“Kaffas, Garrett, I thought you left your weird elf harem back in the Imperium,” Carver said upon seeing Merrill wander into the sitting room, her nose in a book and a half-eaten apple in her other hand. “Are those Dalish markings? Are you kidnapping Dalish elves?”

Hawke glared at him and snapped, “I’m not kidnapping any elves, or starting an elf harem. You and Bethy need to lay off about the amount of elves I associate with - they’re nice people! The attractiveness is just a side benefit.”

“Oh, hello,” Merrill said, blinking as she looked up from her book. “Who’s this, Hawke? Another conquest?”

Carver started gagging, his face pale. Hawke laughed and said to him, “You know we don’t look alike.”

“My name is Carver Hawke,” Carver introduced, waving from his seat. After an appreciative glance over Merrill, he added, “Adopted.”

“You were not!” Hawke kicked his shin and swore when he hit the metal armor Carver wore. “Stop telling people that, they’ll start to get the wrong ideas.”

“That I’m ashamed to share blood with you?” Carver asked, “Because that would actually be the right idea.”

Merrill giggled, drawing their attention again. “Hawke, he’s so much like you! Are you here to visit? For how long? Or are you staying - it would be nice if you stayed, Hawke doesn’t talk about Tevinter much and we’d all like to hear about how he was when he was younger.”

Carver shot a nasty grin Hawke’s way. “Oh, I could tell you _stories_ ,” he threatened.

“Not if you want to keep that tongue in your head, you won’t,” Hawke warned him. “I’ve already got one mad dwarf writing my biography, I don’t need to give him more ammunition.”

“Do you want to hear about the time he set a whole field on fire and we nearly starved, or do you want to start with the numerous times he gave the whole house screaming nightmares about giant wasps?”

“How about,” Hawke stood, grabbed Carver by the ear, and dragged him to his feet as well. “We start with you and me going on a tour of Kirkwall? It’s a lovely last sight, which is what it will be if you start telling stories.”

Carver’s face twisted into a snarl, and his arm came out from underneath him already in a fist. It landed with full strength in Hawke’s gut, sending him doubling over with a wheezing sound as all the breath left him.

Carver was pinned face-down on the rug in the next instant, Fenris kneeling on one arm twisted up onto his back and the other trapped beneath him.

“You actually punched me, you little wretch,” Hawke gasped, taking Merrill’s hand to fall back to a sitting position.

“You shouldn’t fucking try to drag me around if you don’t wanna get punched,” Carver growled.

“Hawke, are you alright?” Merrill asked. “Fenris, I think you’re hurting him.”

“He is lucky I do not break his arm,” Fenris snapped. In Arcanum he said to Carver, “If you try to hurt him again, I will break both of them.”

“Fenris, enough.” Hawke said. “I’m sure he’s done expressing his displeasure, right Carv?”

“I still kind of want to punch you again,” Carver said as he regained his feet and shook out the arm Fenris had twisted.

“I wouldn’t if you don’t want two broken arms,” Hawke said, jerking a thumb at Fenris who still hovered close enough to grab Carver.

“Hawke!” Merrill said. “That seems a little far, even if Anders could heal them up after.”

“There’s an idea,” Hawke said.

Carver took a long step away from Fenris.

“Let’s wait and see if he tries to hit you again,” Fenris suggested, wrinkling one side of his nose at Carver. He liked Carver for the most part, but Carver didn’t understand Fenris’ feelings toward Hawke.

“Fine, whatever - no touching.” Hawke threw up his hands. “Do you want to see Kirkwall or not? Won’t the Obscuri want a report at some point?”

Carver glared for a few more seconds, then said, “I’ve got to send word that I’ve arrived by tomorrow, but they aren’t expecting any information for at least a week yet.”

Hawke nodded, “Good, then we’ve got time to come up with some convincing lies. There’s some people you should meet if you’re going to be ‘gathering information’ in Kirkwall.”

Merrill’s eyes lit up, and she followed him down the hall to his bedroom. “Are we going to the Hanged Man? I haven’t seen Isabela since she came back! Well, I’ve heard her a bit when she came to visit Anders’ rooms in the cellar, but I don’t think that counts and I didn’t really want to disturb them.”

Hawke’s expression went through some complicated gymnastics as he considered all this new information and took out a set of robes to wear. Finally he said plaintively, “I really don’t know enough of what goes on under my own roof. How long has Anders been doing Isabela?”

“Only since she came back I think,” Merrill said with a consoling pat on his bare shoulder; she had no concept of body modesty, and Hawke didn’t care enough to kick her out while he dressed. “Because was he ever pent-up when you and Fenris left. Fenris did that lyrium thing for him yesterday, but I think he missed the sex part of it.”

“Ugh,” said Fenris, putting on his armor from its stand.

“How often does the man need to get laid?” Hawke demanded. “I can’t take one day off? Do I need to start hiring him professionals from the Rose?” After a thoughtful pause, “Or possibly start hiring him out to the Rose? Fenris, is that pimping?”

“The very definition of it, Master,” Fenris said dryly.

“But he’d look very nice in one of those uniforms,” Merrill said, her tone never wavering from innocence. Hawke honestly did not know if she was trying to make a dirty joke or thought Anders would look good in the kind of clothes Blooming Rose prostitutes wore.

“Who is this Anders?” Carver asked from outside the door. “Also, is Garrett decent yet? I’ve no desire to see his flat ass naked ever again.”

“Flat!” Hawke shouted, aghast. He yanked the door open - thankfully, he was in fact decent - and yanked the startled Carver into a headlock against his chest. “Say it again, Carv, and I’ll pound _you_ flat.”

“You’ve got a flat ass and the whole Maker-damned household knew it,” Carver choked out. He tried to hook around Hawke’s leg and unbalance him, but Hawke’s legs were planted solidly.

“Ah, Carver,” Hawke planted a kiss on top of his head and released his brother. “You always were a shit liar. What do the Obscuri want with you, anyway?”

“Fucker,” Carver said, staggering quickly out of reach of Hawke again and swiping a hand through his dark hair as if to wipe away all trace of Hawke. “Not everybody needs to lie about everything just for fun.”

"Yeah, but spies tend to need to lie a lot, and you're not good at it."

"Not that kind of spy," Carver told him. "I just go places and listen to things," he scowled “Apparently people tend not to notice me.”

“Don’t start that shit again,” Hawke warned him.

Carver snorted and said, “Don’t worry, Magister, I’ve got other things on my mind. Not everyone in the Imperium needs magic to make a difference.”

Carver turned and stormed out, taking all the tension with him but leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. Merrill blinked and said to Hawke, “Your brother seems… very typical.” 

Hawke gave her a strange look. She hurried to qualify, “Well, he’s not what I would have imagined if someone had told me to, but now that I’ve met him I can see how it works.”

“You haven’t met him without me in the room yet,” Hawke sighed. “I’m told he’s basically a different person then. We bring out bad things in each other, always have, but it got worse after I became a Magister - and after mother died…. Well, Carver and I both blamed me; it’s probably the only thing we can agree on.”

* * *

Hawke took Carver down to the Hanged Man, where they found Isabela and Varric at a table with four other people. The pile of coins in the middle, mostly silver and copper with a couple golds thrown in, was reaching critical mass for Isabela’s need to steal.

“Angel of Death!” she cried, throwing the card down. “Show your hands, lads, and see if you can beat this!”

The men grumbled as they laid down lesser hands. Isabela crowed her victory and pulled the coins toward herself, giving the man to her right a reassuring pat on the thigh. “Maybe next time, sweetheart,” and he brightened up considerably at her touch.

“Up, up, up,” Hawke said, lifting his hands palm-up as he approached. “We’ve got next round with this lovely lady and her dastardly dwarf.”

They made themselves scarce, fleeing to other corners of the seedy bar. Hawke was well-known in the Hanged Man.

“How’ve they not guessed that you’re cheating them by now?” Hawke asked, stooping before he sat to press a kiss to Isabela’s cheek.

“Well, I’m sure they suspect it,” she said coyly, fluttering her lashes at him, “But so long as I look good enough doing it, they’re willing to lose a bit of coin. Who’s this you’ve brought to see me?” She raked her eyes up and down Carver’s body, and then began to smile at him.

“Izzy, no,” Hawke chided playfully. “You’d break him. Everyone, this is my younger brother Carver. He also answers to Assface.”

Carver kicked Hawke’s ankle hard, making his expression turn strained as he struggled not to pick up his foot and start hopping around on the other one in pain.

“I do not answer to that,” Carver announced to the table. “And anyone who thinks I do will get to meet my very sharp sword in a personal way.”

“There are more Hawkes?” Varric asked, leaning onto the table to get a closer look at Carver. “I’m sure you’ve mentioned it before, but I just hoped that you were kidding.”

“Garrett gives the family a bad name,” Carver told him. “The rest of us - what’s left, that is - aren’t nearly as bad as he is.”

“Who’s Garrett?” Isabela asked, blanking on the name.

“They’d have to be better than him, or there wouldn’t be a Tevinter left up there.” Varric lifted his tankard in the air, caught Corff’s eye, and motioned to his new guests. Corff rolled his eyes and started pouring more drinks for the newcomers. “Rivaini, Garrett is Hawke’s first name. You’ve slept with him on multiple occaisions, did you just not know this?”

Isabela shrugged. “I call him Hawke. But you,” she turned to Carver with that deliberately sexy smile again, “You I could call all sorts of things, if you like. I’m Isabela, and the dwarf’s name is Varric Tethras.”

“If you’ve banged my brother, I don’t want any,” Carver said, taking a seat across from Isabela - the farthest he could be from her at the round table.

“Oh, honey, I hope you don’t want to get laid while you’re in town then,” Isabela purred. “Because I’m pretty sure Hawke’s been through most of the Rose and a lot else besides. Daisy-darling, come sit by me,” she kicked out the chair beside hers for Merrill to sit down.

“If you can get the Guard Captain into your bed, she’s managed to resist his questionable charms so far,” Varric offered. He shoved his own half-full tankard at Hawke when he sat down next to him. “But she’s also almost literally a battle-axe of a woman, so it might take an act of the Maker to get you there.”

“Can we please stop discussing Garrett’s sex life!” Carver demanded. “Andraste’s tits, I can’t believe I forgot what a fucking whore you are.”

Hawke shrugged, “I enjoy myself where I can. Varric, Carver’s one of the newest Obscuri of the Imperium.”

“What’s an Obscurry?” Isabela asked, mangling the Arcanum word on purpose just to watch Hawke grimace about it.

“The Archon’s personal spies,” Hawke replied, not bothering to correct her. “The Archon, before you ask, is like the Imperium’s king. Not actually the king, but probably the closest equivalent. They recruit out of the army and basically every social class except for the mages. No mages allowed in, obviously. They’re the Imperium’s answer to the Qunari’s Ben-Hassrath, but less powerful.”

“Why’re you telling me?” Varric asked. “I’m not really into the spy-thriller genre right now, although I’ll keep him in mind if the inspiration strikes me.” He winked at Carver.

Carver leaned over to Hawke and muttered, “Garrett, is your dwarf flirting with me?”

“Nobody is ever flirting with you,” Hawke deadpanned. “I’m telling you because he’s been sent down here to look for the same thing we’ve been looking for, Varric. The Imperium wants to know why the Qunari are here, and if they figure out it’s for the Tome, we’ll be swimming in Obscuri and blood mages before you can say ‘fuck off ‘Vint’.”

After a moment’s pause and consideration, Hawke amended, “Swimming in _more_ blood mages, that is.”

“There are blood mages down here?” Carver asked, nonplussed. “And you haven’t killed them?”

Hawke smiled dangerously. “I’ve killed many of them. Not enough and not all, but give me a little more time.”


	30. the people's justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's all pretend I didn't take a very long break from writing this, okay?

"This is good news," Varric declared, thumping a fist on the table. "Rivaini and I were just talking about needing a fresh face in the mix."

"Is there something wrong with my face?" Hawke demanded, instead of just asking what he meant.

"You're a vision of beauty as always, Hawke," Varric said, "But we need someone to go undercover in the Coterie; they're our biggest lead and our biggest blind spot, and it would be a little suspicious if, say, one of us were to show up at their next recruitment party."

"They host recruitment parties?" Merrill asked, interested. "How creative! Are there snacks?"

"Turn of phrase, Daisy. There probably aren't any actual parties."

"So if I'm hearing this right," Carver broke in, "I get to go undercover and pretend I'm not related to Garrett, and don't even know him?" He began to grin. "Dream job."

"Cute," Hawke huffed.

"We'll have to get Carver a room here or in another house," Varric said thoughtfully. "Do you go by another name at all?"

Carver snorted. "I wish. No, I've always used Carver Hawke."

"Well, if we want to use you to infiltrate the Coterie, you can't be going around as that or living on the Hawke estate. Got any preference?"

"Oh, oh!" Hawke slapped the table, grinning broadly. "Kestrel! It's like Hawke... but smaller!" He held his thumb and forefinger up, separated by an inch of air to indicate something little.

"I hate you," Carver said tiredly.

"I like it! Welcome to Kirkwall, Serah Kestrel. It's really lucky that you and Hawke look nothing alike."

"I've been saying that for years," Carver shrugged. "You guys really don't have anyone in the Coterie already? Varric, you at least seem pretty connected."

"Coterie don't like dwarves," Varric waved a hand, "Racist bastards. Just 'cause the Carta are their biggest competitors... who doesn't like a little competition? It's good for the market!"

"And it's not been for lack of trying," Isabela added, leaning heavily into Merrill with her arm wrapped over Merrill's shoulders. "I've been trying to get some pillowtalk out of their people, but they just aren't blabbing. You've got one of those faces, maybe they'll tell you."

"One of those faces?"

"You know," Isabela gestured with her free hand, sloshing ale out of the tankard she was holding. "Unremarkable."

Carver started to look angry, and then Fenris leaned over his shoulder and whispered something to him. A smile began to dawn on his face. "No one will know I'm related to you. Nobody will look at me when you do something stupid or awful!"

"It's like my every birthday wish come true," Hawke said.

"Docks tomorrow evening, Kestrel," Varric toasted Carver, who looked a little flattered to be referred to by his codename. "There's a Coterie captain you can impress who likes to hang out around there, and I've got a plan with some friends in the Carta who can help with that."

After Isabela had absconded with both Merrill and Carver to hunt down lodgings for him, Varric invited Hawke up to his rooms - without the thin excuse of a game of cards.

"What's up?" Hawke asked when Fenris had closed the door behind them.

Varric took a deep breath and said, "Bartrand's back in town."

Hawke tried not to show his first impulse, which was the thought _Good it'll be easier to kill him up close._

"You want my help with him, right? Name the time and place, Varric, you know I'm there."

"Word is he's holed up in his old house in Hightown, although that word only came from the one source and it's not fresh. There hasn't been deliveries in or out. If he's there, he must be living off some huge stash of supplies and not letting anyone leave for anything. If he's smart... well, if he was smart, this shit wouldn't have happened to begin with." Varric scrubbed a hand over his face. "But if he's smart about it, he's holed up somewhere else and has a trap set up or the house under watch to see who comes looking for him. But we have to check anyway. Tomorrow morning, early. Bartrand likes to sleep in."

"As do most civilized people," Hawke said, turning up his nose and putting on a noble air to try to get a laugh out of his friend. Varric grinned, but his heart wasn't in it. "Meet you here bright and early tomorrow, then. Anybody you want with us?"

"I know you don't like it, but - bring Daisy." Varric saw Hawke's mouth drop open, ready to protest, and held up a hand. "If he's still got that freaky idol, we don't know what it is or does, but it's some kind of Tevinter blood magic demon thing. Between you and Daisy, we'll have all those bases covered. We just won't let anyone touch it, if it's there. If we can pry it out of my brother's greedy little fingers."

Hawke growled and said, "Fine. You, me, Fenris, Merrill, and probably bring Aveline since this is questionably legal." He brightened after a moment's consideration. "We'll be like a bad joke: a magister, two elves, a dwarf and a guard walk into a bar...."

"Ha! Walk into a lyrium-addled death trap, but sure. Can't wait to hear the punchline."

* * *

Hawke had expected a letter or a message from Starkhaven’s version of Varric; not to wake up that night to a clattering sound by Fenris’ armor stand and to blearily look around and find that Fenris had pinned down a strange, skinny young woman with only black stubble instead of hair.

“She is unarmed, master,” Fenris reported. He said down to her, “Or else she’d be dead.”

“I did come unarmed for a reason,” she retorted with a thick Starkhaven brogue, twisting a little in his grip. “Call off your bodyguard, magister.”

“I’d like to know who you are first,” Hawke said, sitting up and scrubbing at his eyes to get the muscles woken up. “And maybe why you’re in my bedroom, if you feel it’s important.”

“I’d be Red Jenny,” she told him, “With some information you asked for.”

In another minute, she was up off the floor and seated in Hawke’s study, across the desk from him, and Fenris at his side ready to intervene should she try to attack. She was busy rubbing the arms of the cushy chair, stroking the soft velvet.

“What information do you have for me, and what do you want for it?”

Her fingers curled in so she could drag short nails through the velvet; she watched this for a moment, and then looked up at him. “No cost. This one’s on me and my friends.”

“I doubt it. Just because you don’t want money doesn’t mean it won’t cost me anything. What do you really want?”

“Shoulda said it better,” she admitted. “It’s like this: you’ve already paid.”

Hawke raised a dubious look at her, glancing at Fenris with an _are you getting this_? look.

“You’ve done a lot for my friends already. It’s pretty rare I meet a noble who doesn’t need a little touch of Red Jenny’s madness in their lives, to get their heads out of the clouds and their own asses for a second.” She grinned, showing off a mouthful of crooked but healthy teeth. “But nobody who knows you in Tevinter or in Kirkwall has a thing to complain about. Glowing praise, in fact. Your miners think your shit don’t stink.”

Hawke raised a finger and said, “You have not been talking to the right people. I know for a fact that half the Magisterium would like to spit on my grave.”

She blew a raspberry at him and scoffed, “Not them. Real people. The little people, what takes ten of them to make one of you. Your miners, your baker, your servants an’ bartender an’ bank teller. The guy who comes around to get your trash thinks you’re the nicest prick on the block, ‘ence you give him a silver noble every Midwinter.”

“So, because I don’t treat people like shit,” Hawke said slowly, “You did this work for free.”

“Well, it was hardly work, was it? We didn’t find much. I can tell you your special book hasn’t left Kirkwall, and that it’s no noble that has it now. Kirkwall’s Jenny has friends in all those houses, and they ain’t seen it. He don’t have a friend in yours, if you’re wondering.”

“If by friend you mean spy, of course not,” Hawke said absently, thinking. He and Varric had narrowed it down to the gangs and the nobles, and if she could eliminate half that pool it would make it more manageable.

“Not spies. Maker knows I don’t want reports on what every noble in Starkhaven eats for breakfast,” she shuddered. “‘Least not until it’s time for me to make sure their meat pasty is on the bad side of fresh, so they can spend a day shitting and throwing up instead of throwing things at their servants. That was a fun trick.”

“Nobles… Ser Jenny, what do you think of Goran Vael?”

“He’s a horse’s ass with a rat’s face and a brain that makes raisins look juicy,” she said easily. “Why? Want to know about him next? If you’ve got something tricksy planned, he’s definitely on my list. Well, more tricksy than punching ‘im and making it look like he went on a bender - classic. Saved us the trouble of planning something for him.”

“Us being you and your… friends.”

“Us being me and my brothers, helped by our friends. But enough about that. I just got two requests for you, magister.” She waited for Hawke to motion with his hand for her to continue. “Stay the fuck out of Starkhaven - we don’t need your brand of bullshit, our city is fucked enough already. And when Seheron rises, you better do goddamn right by them.”

“How do you know about Seheron?” Hawke demanded, snapping his fingers for Fenris to grab her, but she’d thrown down a smoke bomb - an actual smoke bomb, who used those? - and in the next second after he’d summoned a wind to blow it away, she was gone and the window was banging closed. Hawke cursed. “If she has spies in the house….”

“They did not sound like reliable spies, master,” Fenris said. “Just servants and slaves with grudges recruited on the spot. You always knew that there were other ways for the Magisterium to discover what’s happening on Seheron, just relied on them not being able to use those methods.”

“Still… this Red Jenny thing worries me. Varric hasn’t said a thing about it - although he’s Dwarven Merchant Guild, which is basically nobility, so he might not have a connection there. Damn. What time is it?”

Fenris checked his internal clock and guessed, “An hour before the first Chantry bell.”

Hawke groaned, “It is far too early to be awake.”

* * *

The group that returned from Bartrand’s manor that evening was far more subdued than the one that had set out hours earlier.

“I just want a drink,” Varric said. “Go home. I’m done, today is over.”

“You’ll have the guard around to gather up the bodies?” Hawke muttered to Aveline, pulling her away to where Varric couldn’t hear. “And Bartrand’s, too.”

“It will be done, Hawke,” Aveline said. “Tell the dwarf… tell Varric I’m sorry for his loss. It never gets easier, but it does eventually start to hurt less.”

Hawke’s mouth tilted up, but it couldn’t really be called a smile. “I’ll tell him. It does no good to dwell on the dead, I know that well.”

“And this lyrium idol, I’ll have the whole guard looking out for it. If it turns up in a search, or more likely at the scene of a murder, you’ll have it.”

“Fuck it, destroy the thing. Throw it into the sea. If it comes back to my hands….” Hawke shivered as he remembered that seductive song. “I might go the same way Bartrand did.”

Aveline left and Varric had gone back to the Hanged Man, leaving Hawke, Fenris, and Merrill standing in front of his own estate. Hawke sighed explosively and said, “Merrill, if something like that ever happens to me, I want you to kill me.”

“Me?” she squeaked. “Why me?”

“Well I expect it to take most of you to do the actual killing,” Hawke admitted. “I don’t die easily, and presumably will be too insane to lie down and take it. So you and everyone else you can get.”

“What about - Fenris?” she asked desperately.

Fenris just looked at her, his expression blank and seemingly disinterested. He’d shut down whatver emotional reaction he might have had. “I will follow Master Hawke.”

“Even - ”

“Merrill, don’t,” Hawke interrupted, putting a hand on the back of Fenris’ neck and pulling him closer as he started into the house. “It’s just an emergency plan. It isn’t likely to ever come to pass.”

“Where do you think that lyrium idol wound up, master?” Fenris asked, pretending the previous conversation hadn’t happened.

“Bartrand doesn’t know who he sold it to, so it could be anywhere. Given the price he got, we can rule out the gangs and any miscellaneous grouping of apostate mages - they wouldn’t have the funds. It was either a noble collector looking for another curio for his collection, or some other powerful person with the disposable income. The only people who can use lyrium for profit, though, are mages and Templars. No one else needs it or cares about it. I’ll contact some of my people in the Gallows to keep their eyes and ears open, and talk to the Viscount about it.”

“What are you going to do about those two dwarves we found in Bartrand’s house? They both seemed quite nice, but with two more people your house will be full up.” One corner of Merrill’s mouth canted up. “No more taking in strays after this, I suppose.”

“Bodahn and… Sandal, was it?” Fenris nodded at Hawke. “Yeah, Sandal. Hm. Arianni doesn’t really need the help, but I’m certain she’s being hassled in the markets for being an elf. If I hire him, he can take over some of those duties. At least until he gets back on his feet and wants to move on.”

* * *

Arianni knocked softly on the door to Hawke’s study, after having strained her hearing for a moment to make sure she wouldn’t be interrupting anything. Fenris opened the door, surprise showing on his face when he saw that it was just her on the other side.

“Arianni,” he said, “You know you don’t have to knock.”

“Probably doesn’t want to walk in on us again,” Hawke said with a leer at Fenris, who rolled his eyes. “How are Bodahn and Sandal settling in - they keep things nailed down while you were gone?”

Grateful for another moment to prepare herself, Arianni told him, “Bodahn seems very knowledgeable about running a household - he says it’s a bit like running a camp or a shop, which is what he did for the Hero of Ferelden.”

“Great! So then you had a nice, stress-free day off, right? How was it at the alienage?”

“That’s why I’m here - Hawke.” Remembering to use his name at the last moment, Arianni ducked her head, trying to recompose her thoughts. It was early evening, she still had time to go back and talk to them again, she didn’t need to bother Hawke - a hand under her chin tilted her head up to meet Hawke’s concerned gaze.

“What’s wrong, Arianni? Did something happen?”

“Yes,” she whispered, “But not to me.”

Her voice began quietly as she relayed the story of the young elven woman raped by a guard and the plans of her brothers to hunt him down and kill him in revenge, but by the end of it she was nearly shouting, “And I’ve told them to go to the guard, because your friend Aveline is just and fair, but even I know that she wouldn’t be able to do right by them - it’s a slap on the wrist, a fine if you’re lucky, if you can _prove_ it!”

There was a singing metal sound from behind her, and she turned to see Fenris sheathing his greatsword on his back. While she was speaking, he’d armored up. She turned back around and saw that Hawke had retrieved his staff. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s go see Aveline.”

* * *

“Do you have a name?” Aveline asked when she’d heard the story as well. Arianni nodded and told her.

She was silent and still for a long moment, her eyes closed as she stood behind her desk. Arianni didn’t even breathe, wondering if this was it. If there was going to be justice for elves in Kirkwall, for once.

“They won’t take the word of a couple elves in any court in the city,” Aveline said finally, opened her eyes again, and Arianni’s heart sank. She went around her desk, poked her head out into the hall, and told someone out there, “Find Emmet and send him into my office immediately.”

Turning back to the three of them, she added, “But I do still have authority over my own guards, including who gets to wear the uniform.”

“Firing him is hardly enough punishment, Aveline,” Hawke said sharply, with a nod to Arianni.

She opened her mouth to respond, but then Emmet came into the room. He noticed Aveline’s guests at once, fixated on the elf woman with the distraught expression, and began to get an idea of what was going on. “Ser,” he said.

“Be silent,” Aveline snapped, cutting him off, and Hawke slipped in a discreet silencing spell. “I told every man and woman of the guard what I wouldn’t stand for when I took office, and it has not changed. Give me your badge.”

White-faced, he opened his mouth to protest and went even paler when he realized nothing could come out. Fenris helpfully stepped up and took the badge hanging around his neck, handing it over to Aveline.

“Now I’m down a guard for a little while,” Aveline said, mock-thoughtful. “His route was supposed to be the alienage again for the next couple nights. The elves will have to police themselves for a few nights while we move patrols around to cover it - Arianni, I’m sure you can let them know?”

“Yes, ser,” Arianni said, her hands trembling and eyes glittering.

“Get him out of my sight.” Hawke put a hand on one of Emmet’s shoulders and Fenris took the other. They began to steer him out of her office. She added, “And Hawke, don’t get caught.”

* * *

 

Hawke and Fenris were reduced to half-dragging Emmet after the first few steps until they got out of the Keep, and he put his feet out and started leaning back to dig his heels in.

“Walk nice, or Fenris breaks your ankles and we drag you anyway,” Hawke advised in a falsely jovial tone.

Emmet started walking again, sweat trickling down from his temples in rivulets. He was swallowing convulsively, and Hawke realized the silencing spell was probably getting uncomfortable. He didn’t lift it; there was no reason to drag a screaming man through all of Hightown and Lowtown if he didn’t have to.

Anders and Merrill met them at the entrance to Lowtown, running up and intersecting nicely with the opening of the Hanged Man’s front door to emit Varric and Isabela.

“Feynriel told Anders and I what was going on,” Merrill said, an adorable scowl on her face, “Well, part of it. Is that him?”

“That the scumbag I heard about?” Varric asked by way of greeting, joining the party as they passed the bar.

“This is Emmet, everyone. He used to be one of Aveline’s guards, but she’s disavowed him to face the people’s justice, since the law has failed.” Hawke’s expression was grim as he spoke.

“If you hand him over to a mob, they’ll just rip him apart,” Anders pointed out. “Not that he wouldn’t deserve it, the bastard, but I think Aveline would have some choice words about murder.”

“What would be just?” Hawke asked him, struck by the sudden thought that he had a spirit of Justice at hand.

Anders’ eyes widened as he realized what Hawke was really asking. He looked down as he concentrated inward, feeding the situation through the part of his mind that was Justice to get an answer from it.

His head jerked back up a second later, eyes taking on a bright sheen - although they did not glow, which would have been too noticeable in the fading dusk light. “The act is one of dominance, of making the victim feel powerless and unsure of themselves and their strength. He should feel the same.”

Hawke nodded. “That can be done.”

Anders’ eyes lost their glow, and he gained a sickly look. He said, “Hawke, you’re not - ”

“Good Maker, how many times am I going to have to tell you people, I am not a monster! No, I’m not going to have him raped. My magic is pretty well specialized for a very personal invasion, however.”

Anders and Fenris both shuddered in unison, but they were the only ones with enough experience of that kind of magic to understand what Hawke was saying.

“So… mind-rape?” Isabela guessed, her mouth twisted uncertainly. “I’d rather just have his cock off and be done with it. Maybe a little light torture, for the girl.”

“We’ll do that too, obviously,” Hawke said, patting her shoulder. “But it’s probably best if we keep the visible ‘assault’ part of the evening to a minimum, just to keep the guard out of it. And while one might… technically call it mind-rape, it’s got a bit more finesse than that. I inflict feelings of fear, powerlessness, and humiliation, and his mind makes up the rest of it with visions of what’s causing it. I barely do anything at all.”

“Arianni, what did you do?”

An elven man was accosting them just inside the alienage, his brother coming up behind him. They were both armed with makeshift clubs and padded clothing, ready for a fight.

“That’s him!” the elf behind the first shouted, lunging forward. “That’s the bastard whoreson who got Shiana!”

Hawke released Emmet to the elf’s grip without a fight, watching the two men struggle against each other for a moment. The elf slammed him in the gut with the club, grunting with the effort of the blow, and stepped back to watch as Emmet doubled over and retched silently on the ground.

“What in Void is going on, Arianni?” The first elf asked. “Why isn’t he running his mouth or shouting for help, and why is your shemlen master here, and the rest of these people - hello Varric, Merrill.”

“I know what you and Sulanin were planning, Aravar,” Arianni said. “You would have gotten killed, or arrested… I just asked Messere Hawke if he would help you. He did the rest. His friend is the guard captain, and she doesn’t like that the law won’t work with you either, so she gave him - us - two days to do as we like with him, barring outright murder.”

“He should die!” Sulanin growled, “For what he did, there’s no better punishment than death.”

“Now that,” Hawke said, gravely, “Is just a failure of imagination.”

* * *

Elves did not get to have justice for crimes committed against their own very often, so when one of the alienage children went running ahead of their group knocking on doors and spreading the word, they gathered quite the mob behind them; the elves were furiously triumphant and muttering amongst themselves about vengeance, although a few were worse: stone-faced and absolutely silent.

“Be very careful,” Hawke murmured to his group, careful not to be heard. “If this turns into a mob, anyone with rounded ears is going to catch the brunt of it.”

“Isn’t it already a mob?” Varric asked, glaring at a couple of the elves until they dropped back to a more reasonable following distance.

“No one’s rioting yet, so things could get worse. This just requires a very delicate touch. On that note - Arianni?”

She looked wide-eyed at Hawke and shook her head. “Me? What do you want me to do?”

“Talk to them. They know you, they’ll listen.”

“What would I say? I don’t know what to say to them.”

Hawke weighed the benefits, then cast a calming spell before she could get too worked up to throw it off. “Right now, most of these people don’t know a thing about what’s going on. They’re just following the person in front of them, building up energy, ready to spark. Get up and tell them what’s happening.”

“Get up where?” Arianni asked, voice smooth and unnaturally calm compared to just moments ago. She only felt a cool feeling passing over her, steadying her heartbeat and voice; she didn’t even realize that it was Hawke’s spell.

They’d arrived before the vhenadahl, but the tree’s roots were kept free of debris or any convenient crates. Hawke motioned for Anders to come closer, and together they made a cup between their hands for Arianni to step up into. She was a light burden to share between the two of them, her other foot braced for balance against Hawke’s forearm.

“Elvhen,” Arianni called, and the noise of the crowd fell to a trickle. “I stand here before you with Sulanin and Aravar, brothers of Shiana. At our feet lies the living scum called Emmet, whose name you all know for his crimes against our people in the course of his patrols. Last night, he went too far. The guard captain acknowledges that human law has failed us, and has handed him to elvhen justice.”

A voice from the crowd shouted, “Hang that bastard shem’len from the vhenadahl! String him up!”

“String him up!” Another echoed.

“Stop them now, before they start chanting,” Hawke said up to Arianni, hefting her higher.

“We will not profane the vhenadahl with such an act!” she shouted back, quieting the rise of noise. “The one sacred part of our history the shem’len allow us to have, and you want to taint it? No!”

“What then?” another voice asked, this time a woman. “You haven’t brought him to us to let him walk free.”

Arianni looked lost, casting a glance down at Hawke and Anders. Merrill stepped up, jumping nimbly to stand next to Arianni on Hawke and Anders’ braced arms. Anders began to grit his jaw with the effort, and muscle corded in Hawke’s neck straining, until Varric went down on one knee between them and added his own strength to the brace.

“Hurry up, girls, my knees aren’t meant for this,” Varric muttered.

“Such an act is rare among the Dalish clans,” Merrill said to the elves.

“That’s the Keeper girl,” they murmured.

“But not unheard of. The punishment is almost always death, but I don’t think we want to see what happens when an elf kills a human again.”

The mob rumbled, voices rising in a wave.

“Magic can offer another path. A punishment befitting the crime, a torture of the mind that will haunt him as his actions have haunted Shiana and others. Is this a fitting punishment?”

A roar rose from the elves, a great beast of sound threatening to leap beyond anyone’s control.

“Merrill, you can restrain him?” Hawke asked.

She glanced down with the barest nod of agreement, saying out of the corner of her mouth, “I can summon roots and vines enough to hold him. Right here?”

Hawke nodded. “In front of the vhenadahl, not on it. Arianni’s right, it shouldn’t be fouled with something like this.”

Merrill hopped down and crouched next to Emmet’s prone from, pricking her wrist to summon the plants that would bind him.

Arianni took back over when the noise finally began to die down again. “Two days we will have him, elvhen,” she said in a carrying voice. “Here, where all can see him. He will not be beaten or killed. I promise you, you will be able to see his pain clearly enough, and no physical effects will match it.”

On the ground, Hawke had turned his attention to Emmet. He was bound to the earth and struggling against it, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. His mouth worked with desperate, silent pleas.

“Any last words?” Hawke asked, releasing the silencing spell at last.

“Please, please, stop this, I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’ll never - I’ll do anything, please don’t - I’m sorry.”

“Shush,” Hawke said, reaching out to close his mouth. Emmet shut up, whimpering. “You’re not as sorry as you’re going to be.”

He cast. Emmet slumped in his bonds and dropped deep into the Fade, lids drooping shut. His eyes flew back open, unseeing, and a hoarse, rattling scream erupted from his wide mouth.

The sound had such power that the mob went silent, drawing back as one from the man on the ground. Hawke motioned for Merrill to gag him, grimacing at the ugly noise. A vine crept across his mouth and tightened, cutting off much of the sound when it burst into thick leaves.

“You can go, Arianni,” Aravar said to them. “I know what you’ve done for us today. Sulanin and I will make sure no one kills the shem.”

“You will not harm him?” she asked, tiredly. “It was your sister he hurt, you’re probably the last people I should be trusting with his safety.”

“We are not fools,” Sulanin said, “And only a fool would not see that he is suffering more like this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that in Inquisition, Sera tells us that Starkhaven's Jenny is three brothers; Hawke and Fenris are misgendering him in the narrative. It probably won't come up again but there you go.


	31. truth to power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One might argue that things are happening really fast all of a sudden. For example, I introduce a subplot and then immediately advance/kill it in this chapter. This is because 1) just way too much shit happens in Act 2 and 2) I'm not so hot at pacing. I tried, but demands of canon fucked me.
> 
> Info dump in the first scene (I think this is the last of the backstory! The important stuff, anyway.) and sex in the last scene.

 

“Had the Seneschal over for dinner last night. He has a lovely wife, although she doesn’t hold a candle to that Rose girl he likes to see.”

Varric hummed distractedly as he shuffled through the manuscript for his latest novel, and didn't even react to the reminder of one of his favorite pieces of gossip.

“You’ll like this, though: I pointed out to him how badly the Viscount is mismanaging the city, and he didn’t say a thing - which told me he agreed, of course. He’s a bit liked a more respectable you, Varric,” Hawkeobserved, and waited for his trap to spring.

Varric rose to the bait wonderfully: “Hey, what? I’m respectable! I even went to a Merchant Guild meeting the other day.”

Hawke made a shushing noise and said soothingly, “Varric, please, respectable is so overrated. But anyway, Cavin likes to be the quiet power behind the throne, like you. I offered him the Viscount’s seat - Maker knows Seamus wouldn’t take much convincing to abdicate - but he doesn’t want to be the guy people point to when they ask who’s fault it is. So I figure we put Seamus up there, tell him he doesn’t even really have to do anything with it, and everyone gets to be happy. Aside from the Viscount, who will have to fall very sick. It probably won’t kill him, but who knows?”

Varric snorted. “You’ll just move people around your life like pieces on a chessboard, won’t you Hawke?”

“Is that so bad?” Hawke asked mildly. “I’m just taking preventative measures. I don’t like the news I’m hearing from inside the Gallows, unrest among the mages and the templars both - compounded with a weak Viscount who might not protect me as well as he should, my position here is in danger. I like to be proactive about these things.”

Varric just stared at him for a long moment and eventually said, “I couldn’t have picked a better man to write about, I think.”

“Oh, Varric, such a flatterer. You know I’m open to it anytime, my sweet dwarven morsel.”

“I’ve written righteous heroes and romances; I thought I’d have to work around the real story with you, add those fantastical details, augment the reality - but this one’s going to be complete as it is, isn’t it? The story of Garret Hawke, Magister-errant. Why did you really come down here to Kirkwall? I haven’t thought about it in a while, but it can’t be any of the lies you told everyone before. I know better now than to think that anyone could make you do anything you didn’t want to.”

“Fenris,” Hawke said, and Fenris walked the walls of Varric’s rooms: checking every nook and crevice, every bolt-hole and smuggler’s safe. Finally he went to the door, checked the hall outside, and when he’d closed it he started shoving a sheet into the crack under it.

“The room is secure,” he reported.

“This doesn’t leave the room,” Hawke said. “It’s a risk to tell you, but I think it’s a bigger risk if you try to go dig it up on your own…. I’ve mentioned Seheron to you before, right?”

“You grew up there, it’s some war-torn place, right? Qunari, magisters, et cetera.”

Hawke grimaced. “What have I told you people about trying to speak Arcanum at me? But yes, you know the situation. What you don’t have is the whole story and my family’s involvement with it.

“I don’t know how my father met the fog warriors, or how he came to be helping them. It was that way for as long as I could remember: we’d host the Seheron natives in our house and its basement, hide their sick and injured, host meetings between the guerilla groups. They took portions of our harvest every year, that my father reported as lost to raiding and battles. I think when he started, he just wanted to help people - that’s the kind of man my father was. But after a while, after knowing them, hearing their plight and struggles, he wanted what they did: a free and independent Seheron.

“Of course, wanting it isn’t the same as being able to have it. Ripped between two warring powers, there would be no way to fight them both off at once. When my father rescued the Qunari warrior - the one who eventually got him killed - he began a campaign with the fog warriors to ally themselves with the Qunari and drive the Imperium out. He thought - if they could just be a territory, a protectorate, they’d follow the Qun but wouldn’t have to actually join the Qunari - he pushed for that so hard. He would have done it, too. He was convincing, powerful, charismatic; he’d moved the stars and the Fade itself to make his vision happen. So they killed him.

“The Qunari gave up their emissary to have him killed by the Imperium. The alliance with the fog warriors fell apart, and without my father there to bridge that gap they couldn’t even begin again. I came home to spread my father’s ashes, and learned all of this. I blamed… everyone. The fog warriors for needing him, the Qunari for their betrayal and their fucking Qun that would have demanded more from him than anyone should have to give, the Imperium for crucifying him.... I left everything. I’m afraid you could really call it running away.

“Time passed, those wounds - well, they didn’t heal, but they started to hurt less. I traveled the Imperium, looking for something. A purpose, an excuse, a reason. Why did my father go there? He took us from Ferelden to the other end of the world, and he still died horribly. Eventually I tired of traveling, and realized that that was what he wanted: a home, a place to stay, without the constant fear that is the life of an apostate in the south. I went back home, I found the fog warriors, and I told them that I was going to pick up where my father left off, with one difference: no Qunari. You cannot reason with the fanatically religious, as all of them are. When Seheron earns her freedom, she will ally with the Imperium as a partner, under self-governance, and drive the Qunari away once and for all.”

“Revolution is a tall order and comes with an expensive bill,” Varric said. “So you came down here to… make more money for your fog warriors.”

“No, although it is helping. They use my properties in Seheron to hide large groups of soldiers, and they use the crops to support themselves. The guerilla attacks in Seheron will have been rising sharply since I left, activity slowly increasing as they make it more and more expensive for the Imperium to keep a hold on them. If they are ever caught, or come under suspicion, I’ll be safe down here and my siblings both are publicly on the outs with me - we’re all safe from the Imperium. Eventually - soon - they will seize Seheron city itself. When that happens, they will have already made it evident that it’s in the Imperium’s best interest, the interests of its pockets, to let Seheron govern itself. The Imperium, specifically the Navy, will have a vested interest in helping to keep the Qunari out, which is their biggest potential issue. And after decades of war, Seheron will finally be able to recover.”

“Or fail and fall, since they haven’t exactly had a lot of practice governing themselves,” Varric pointed out.

“Then so be it.” Hawke’s tone was grim. “That’s the right of every man and woman: to try their best and succeed or fail. They were never given the chance before. A lot of people aren’t given that chance.”

“Like slaves?” Varric asked.

Hawke rolled his eyes, tired of the argument. “They still have the chance to rise or fall in their given tasks. Good workers are promoted to better positions whether they’re paid or not, Varric.”

“Hawke, come on - that might be the case in some places, but not everywhere.”

“Of course not everywhere! But in a lot of places it is, and in every place that I can help that’s how it is! I don’t know what you want from me, Varric.”

“Why do you constantly pick at this, dwarf?” Fenris asked in a low growl, leaning his head against Hawke’s shoulder.

Varric sighed and rubbed his chin. “I think - you’re a good man, Hawke, and this one thing doesn’t match up with what I know about you. It’s throwing off my writing, it really is. How does a man like you condone slavery?”

Tiredly, “What do you want from me, Varric? Slavery is bad, there you go. I’ve been in the south long enough to see that things can work well without it - although I don’t agree with your alienages and slum sewers, there’s got to be a middle ground - but slavery is how it works in Tevinter, how it’s worked there for centuries. The best I could possibly do is push for more rights for slaves, but that would get me assassinated within a day, and no amount of bodyguards could stop it.”

Varric was shaking his head. “See, you _say_ you think slavery is bad, but if you really believed that nothing would stop you, and you’d start by freeing your own; as it is, you still profit a lot from the system.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in my abilities,” Hawke said dryly. “None of mine want to be freed. There’s a work program set up so they can buy their way to freedom with extra work on their days off. Some of them take it, but Liberati have fewer rights than any other citizen.”

“I don’t know how you can stand to live in a place like that. Are you still planning to go back to Tevinter sometime in the future?”

“Yes. It’s my home. The land, the cities, the magic - it’s all beautiful. You focus so much on what’s wrong with the Imperium, Varric. You should come up for a visit sometime, see what people can do when all the magic isn’t locked up in towers and dungeons.”

Varric nodded slowly. “I think I will, Hawke. It’ll be a good way to finish my book, or maybe begin it - a look at Tevinter from the eyes of a magister.”

“Imperial citizens call it the Imperium, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Hawke pointed out. “If they aren’t using the full fancy Tevinter Imperium title, that is.”

Varric laughed, “Yeah, already noted.”

“Oh! I almost forgot - when I had the Seneschal over for dinner, he asked me to look into something for him. Apparently, Seamus has been making noises about converting to the Qun.”

“Uh, what? And you were just thinking of making him Viscount?”

Hawke shot Varric a look. “Ideally he can be talked out of it. Bran wants me to check it out, make sure he’s not being misled or coerced. You in?”

“Always.”

* * *

“I knew it,” Hawke muttered angrily to himself, “I knew - I told you that you can’t reason with the fanatics. But I don’t listen to myself, follow the lessons that people have died to teach me, I try to make deals with thrice-damned true believers over and over again. I gave her so many chances!”

“You did what you thought was right at the time,” Varric reminded him.

“No, I let myself be blinded by my feelings for the Qunari!” Hawke growled and swung the metal head of his staff into the wall of the alley they were standing in. “I refused to see her for what she was, what she’d do. I knew this would happen. Void and demons take her soul! She’s ruined it!”

“Your plan to dominate the Marches, I assume?” Varric asked dryly.

“Now I have to figure out how to work with Dumar,” Hawke groaned. “And Seamus was such a promising figurehead. Fuck!”

“Yes, let’s ignore the poor dead boy,” Aveline added, scowling at him for a moment. “Or the father who hasn’t even been informed of his death yet.”

“Well _I’m_ not going to tell him,” Hawke snapped. “I still need to work with him, and I’d rather he not think of his dead son every time he sees me.”

“Fine! I’ll go!” Aveline exclaimed, storming out of the alley and back towards the Keep.

“Master, should the Qunari be informed of Petrice’s actions?” Fenris asked, standing well within Hawke’s personal space.

“Maker, no,” Hawke said immediately, leaning back against the wall with his eyes shut. “They might ask why I didn’t tell them about her sooner, or take action myself. I’ve got a working relationship already, I don’t want to jeopardize that. You never have to take back anything you didn’t say in the first place, remember that.”

There was a sound of papers shuffling from right next to Hawke, and he opened his eyes again to see what was going on. Varric was mouthing something to himself as he wrote in a small notebook. Varric glanced up and saw him looking. “What? I wanted to make sure I remembered the exact wording. That’s a great quote, and very revealing of your secretive character. Readers love that shit.”

“I’m beginning to think there is no actual book,” Hawke complained. “I haven’t seen even a bit of a manuscript yet.”

“All up here,” Varric tapped his temple. “‘Cause, no offense, but a lot of the stuff you do is wildly illegal and I’d rather publish it when you’re gone.”

“It must not be a very long book if it all fits in such a tiny space,” Fenris said, and then he stared wide-eyed at Varric when he realized he’d spoken freely.

Varric was staring back, an expression of delight coming over him. “Did Sparkles make a joke? Did mine ears deceive me?”

“I said nothing.” Fenris drew himself up stiffly, face clearing to its usual passivity. The effect was ruined when he looked over at Hawke desperately for help.

“Don’t ask me,” Hawke told him. “He knows you have a sense of humor now, he’ll never let it go. See, I told you I wasn’t lying.” This he said to Varric, smugly.

“I’ve known you for years,” Varric accused Fenris. “And just now I find this out? Do you - ugh, do you know how many one-liners I have had to give to the likes of _Anders and Isabela_ because there was no one better? I’ll have to do so much revision!

* * *

“I need results on the Tome, _yesterday_ ,” Hawke stressed to Carver, shaking him by the shoulders.

“Stop touching me,” Carver growled, ducking out of his grip and across the clinic. Anders glanced up from his brewing potions, making sure they hadn’t ruined any of his sterile equipment. “It’s been a week and a half, they just barely learned my name. I’m still getting a feel for the whole thing.”

Hawke groaned, running his fingers through his hair. “Seamus is dead, Dumar’s on my ass about getting the Qunari out of the city - like he could do any better! - and even the Arishok is starting to get pissy. Bela, what failure of judgement got us all into this mess? I know you know well enough to stay away from jobs like this.”

“Set some Ferelden refugees free in the Marches instead of selling them into slavery in Tevinter,” Isabela said, with a touch of accusation. “Castillon, the man who’d contracted my ship, had a problem with that. Stealing this ‘relic’ was the way I could make those problems go away.”

“And instead we have more problems,” Hawke summarized, ignoring the slavery comment. “Wonderful. Goodbye, Carver,”

Carver made a rude gesture over his head without turning around, as he left the Darktown clinic to get back to his new Coterie friends.

“No good news, but no bad news either,” Varric said helpfully. “We should all just be clasping hands and praying to the Maker that no illiterate thug burned the thing for warmth.”

“Maker, does it bring you joy to find new things to give me ulcers about?” Hawke demanded.

Varric waggled his hand and shrugged. “I won’t deny some small satisfaction.”

“This is shaping up to be a shit end to a shit month,” Hawke groused. “Anders, how are you and Justice doing?”

Anders’ head jerked up and he fixed hungry eyes on Fenris. Fenris smirked back at him. “I can’t tell, which isn’t a great sign,” he admitted.

“Come upstairs with us, then.”

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Varric stated, hopping off the bench. “This meeting of the Relic Search Party is adjourned.”

“You sticking around, Isabela?” Hawke asked.

“Four is a little much, isn’t it?” Varric muttered.

“Maybe next time, Hawke,” Isabela said with a wink at him. “I’m not wearing my three-man underthings, I’m just not prepared.”

“Fair enough. Anders, those potions okay to be left alone?”

“Just let me,” he fiddled with the heating enchantment, courtesy of Sandal. “There, all set. Let’s go.”

“Sound more desperate,” Fenris suggested meanly as they left the clinic behind Isabela and Varric, locking the chain and dousing the lantern outside.

“Fenris,” Hawke chided, pulling down the rope ladder up to the Hawke Estate. “Anders, hurry up. This exit doesn’t stay a secret if everybody and their sister sees us using it.”

“Sorry, just locking up. Right behind you.”

Anders was up the ladder the instant his clinic was locked up behind him. His rooms in Hawke's house were just through the long passage sloping up from the secret exit, and he was just as quick getting his door open.

"Uh, excuse the mess."

There were pieces of paper lying everywhere, parts of Justice's manifesto scattered around the room: some spare pages on the couch against the left wall, whole piles packets stacked up on the desk to the right, and some crumpled bits at the foot of the bed and strewn around the floor.

"Writing is a lot harder when I'm literally of two minds about a lot of stuff," Anders said, blushing faintly and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ever thought about just writing down what you two agree on?" Hawke asked, flicking a paper ball off the bed so he could sit on it. "Seems like a good way to land on the less-controversial bits of mage rights."

"No, because the whole thing is controversial to some people - Meredith, for example. I won't be another moderate voice pushing for gradual change. Mages need freedom," Anders was beginning to wind himself up, and then Fenris sighed and put one hand on the back of his neck.

Fenris had to put up his other hand as well, to catch Anders when he relaxed bodily into Fenris. He blinked blearily up after a moment, an almost drugged look on his face. "Amazing," he slurred.

"How you can't even function properly without help? Truly, it is." Fenris growled. Still, there was a strange light in his eyes and a restrained strength in his grip on Anders. Hawke realized, not for the first time, that Fenris enjoyed having this effect on Anders. He seemed to like that Anders so visibly and obviously needed him.

"It should be moderate," Anders said after a moment, twisting his head against Fenris' chest so that he could look over at Hawke again. "It's Justice that wants those big changes. I know better; I know that that doesn't happen overnight. He still doesn't understand this world."

"From what I know of the Fade, I can't blame him," Hawke shrugged. "Everything can change in a heartbeat there. Think how little of it we still understand, for as long as we've been trying. The spirits must understand just as little about us."

Anders hummed, not quite ready to forgive Justice yet. "Weren't we going to have sex?"

"Maker, yes, I need a good distraction from all this shit," Hawke agreed, pulling Anders away from Fenris and down onto the bed next to him. Anders went willingly enough, although he kept a tight grip on one of Fenris' hands to keep the lyrium connection open.

"Everybody okay?" Hawke asked him, tilting Anders' head toward him with one finger under his chin.

"I'm fine, Justice is stoned - or close enough, I guess."

"Good," Hawke smiled and kissed him, sliding his tongue along Anders' bottom lip slowly. Fenris put a knee up on the bed on the other side of Hawke, leaning in to get his free hand around the back of Hawke's neck so he could feel the lyrium as well - not to such great effect as Anders did, but it always felt good.

"Clothes," Hawke ordered when he broke the kiss with Anders, pushing the other mage down against the bed. "Off, now."

Anders was half-wriggled out of his robes even as Hawke spoke, pulling them over his head at speed. Hawke's disrobing was a little easier with Fenris helping, and when it was the elf's turn, Anders and Hawke seemed to simultaneously have the same idea - double-teaming to get him naked as fast as possible, even given the tight leather he preferred to wear.

A little jostled, Fenris blinked at them standing on one foot while the other was lifted so Anders could finish peeling his leggings off of him. Anders took the opportunity to kiss his way up Fenris' bare leg, starting from the top of his foot and going at a steady pace until his head was level with Fenris' cock and he saw that inviting line of lyrium on it.

"Can I...?" Anders asked, voice as roughened as if he'd already been fucked, looking up imploringly at Fenris.

Fenris nodded, uncertainty making him quiet.

Anders swallowed him down without another moment wasted, moaning around the taste of lyrium on his tongue. Fenris lit the lines, greedily drinking in the vision kneeling before him. He almost startled to feel Hawke's hands drag up his sides, prelude to Hawke pressing fully against his back and running fingers up and down Fenris' front from abdomen to chest.

Fenris leaned back into him, enjoying the rush of sensation: Anders' tongue sliding heated against the underside of his cock, Hawke's hands tweaking a nipple and dragging nails softly up his belly. Fenris' arms came up and pulled Hawke's head in just as Hawke started in with his mouth on Fenris' ears.

Fenris could feel Hawke's cock as a searing-hot line against his crack, rolling with gentle thrusts. Fenris looked down and realized that Hawke had a hand twisted into Anders' long hair and was holding him there, fucking his mouth with Fenris' cock and his own movements. Anders' eyes were half-lidded in some sort of trance-like state, moving perfectly with the gentle thrusts.

Fenris tilted his head back against Hawke's shoulder and came almost soundlessly, sighing happily with his release. Anders didn't really stop until Hawke pulled him back, still by the hair, and then he looked up with confusion.

"You next?" Anders asked.

"If you insist," Hawke replied, eyes dancing as he smiled. "But on the bed, please - I don't think Fenris can hold anyone up after that."

Fenris made a slight protesting noise - he could, if he _had_ to - but didn't argue the point.

Hawke laid back on the bed and Anders resettled between his legs, getting back to his self-appointed task: sucking Hawke's brain out through his cock, with extra lightning effects. Hawke groaned and tugged at his hair again, remembering that Anders seemed to like that. Fenris stretched out next to them and levered himself up on one arm so he could reach Hawke's mouth to kiss him.

Hawke broke the kiss with a shuddering inhale as his back arched off the bed. "Maker's breath, your lightning could kill a man, Anders."

Anders pulled off for a moment to grin up at them and said, "From killing to fucking to killing during fucking... We've come full circle."

" _We_ haven't come at all yet," Hawke reminded him. Anders smirked a little and sent electricity through him so expertly that it almost felt like he had come, except that he was still aching hard when the white sparks faded from his vision, and Anders' mouth was wrapped around his cock again.

Hawke didn't last very long under that treatment, pulling Anders up next to him and rolling onto his side to get an easy grip on Anders. Being no slouch in the practical application of magic himself, Hawke sent a small shiver of spark through the tip of Anders' cock and watched, pleased, as he curled into Hawke.

Fenris reached over his shoulder, trailing glowing blue fingers down the curve of Anders' spine, over his ass, and down to grab behind his knee and hitch his leg up over Hawke's hip, giving them more room to work with. Fenris mouthed up and down the exposed back of Hawke's neck, going by touch alone as he cupped Anders' balls in one glowing hand.

Anders kissed Hawke, one hand holding on to Hawke's arm for dear life and the other trapped beneath them but also gripping tightly. He moaned with each perfect movement as Hawke jerked him off and that amazing lyrium sparkled through his veins and lit up the inside of his head. He made a noise against Hawke's mouth as a warning, and Hawke just grinned with Anders' bottom lip caught gently between his teeth as Anders came undone.

After a few minutes cuddling up to Hawke's side and getting his breath back, Anders raised his head and asked hopefully, "Round two or no?"

Hawke groaned. "Warden stamina, right. Fenris?"

"Give me a few minutes," Fenris grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God the formatting got screwed up on this one. Let me know if any lines are scrunched together, that was the big issue but I think I caught them all.


	32. spite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome... to the end of Act 2.

“You got news, Carver?” Varric asked, not looking up from his tankard and his writing. Carver was sitting at the table next to Varric’s, facing away.

“Yeah, but not here.” Carver jerked his head towards Varric’s rooms, just barely visible in the dwarf’s peripheral vision. “I’ll go first.”

“Go on up,” Varric invited, “Hawke’s due in soon for Grace, we’ll come up when he gets here.”

“Ugh,” Carver said, and got up. He stumbled a little for show on his way up to the private rooms, but instead of continuing past Varric’s to his own, he ducked into the first doorway and around the corner quickly, completely unnoticed.

He sat back in one of the few chairs with a backrest, kicking his feet up onto the big card table. He was dozing half an hour later when Hawke, Varric, and Fenris ambled into the room without a care in the world.

“Feet off the table, brat,” Hawke said, shoving at Carver’s feet and tipping his chair backwards dangerously.

Carver barely managed to right himself with an undignified yelp, and then glared poisonously at Hawke. “Just for that, I shouldn’t tell you where I found the Tome.”

“You found it?” Hawke demanded, all business all of a sudden. “Where? Who has it?”

“Some fence named Wall-Eyed Sam,” Carver said, gloating a bit. “And he’s selling it to me tomorrow night.”

“You haven’t got any money!” Hawke exclaimed. “What could you have promised this guy that he’d believe? Far as they know, you’re just some new Coterie thug.”

Carver shrugged. “After I heard about it and confirmed that he actually has the relic, I told him I was a spy for the Imperium and that we’d be very interested in obtaining a Qunari artifact right out from under their noses. He thinks I’ve got Imperial money backing me.”

“And he just believed that?” Hawke asked, not believing it himself.

“I’m a shit liar, Garrett,” Carver said dryly. “They all knew there was something strange about me, Imperial accent aside. The truth just happens to fit with the story I needed to tell.”

“Wow,” Varric said, impressed. “You actually make a good spy.”

“You don’t have to sound so fucking surprised,” Carver snapped.

Hawke looked over his shoulder at Fenris, excitement sparkling in his eyes. “I can’t believe it’s happening. It’s taken years, but we’re finally getting the Qunari out of Kirkwall.”

Fenris smiled back, happy to see Hawke happy after all the stress of the recent days. “We don’t have the Tome in hand yes, master. Carver, where is the trade happening?”

Carver named one of the Lowtown docks warehouses, and Varric nodded. “I’ll have some friends stake it out. We’ll have all the exits blocked off when this fence is in place, make sure he can’t rabbit to some hole in the ground again.”

Hawke couldn’t seem to stop grinning, hands wringing on his staff. “Tomorrow night. And then the day after, we kick the Qunari out of Kirkwall with their book in hand.”

* * *

“How many people,” Hawke roared, as he sent a noxious cloud of miasma at the Qunari erupting from every corner of the warehouse, “Did you fucking tell about this trade?”

“I only told you and Varric!” Carver shouted back as he cleaved through an enemy’s arm with his broadsword. “What, did you go and post it on the Chanter’s Board?”

“Our end was airtight!” Hawke retorted, throwing up a barrier around Carver’s back to stop the Qunari rogue about to stab him in it.

“Well, Wall-Eye wasn’t exactly quiet about it,” Carver supplied, during a slight pause in the action after he’d done a very fancy pirouette and swept his sword through everything in a radius around him.

“I hope Isabela caught him,” Hawke grunted as he fended off a very angry-looking horned warrior, raising his staff to take the blow of the sword. “Fenris, little help!”

“Here, master,” Fenris said, slipping in under Hawke’s arm and plunging through the Qunari warrior’s chest.

“That’s the last of them,” Varric announced, putting a bolt through the Sten’s eye.

“Maker,” Hawke said, looking around at the bodies. “I hope these were Tal-Vashoth. It’ll make things… a little awkward if they were here on the Arishok’s orders.”

“They did attack first,” Varric pointed out. “Without even saying hello or giving a little monologue first. Very rude.”

“Which is going to be my first point if the Arishok asks,” Hawke said confidently. “The second point will, of course, be sword-point. Because Qunari don’t listen to such simple things as logic.”

Isabela came up out of a trapdoor in the floor, dragging the trembling Wall-Eyed Sam after her. “One rat and one relic,” she said, proudly presenting the man in one hand and the book in the other. “You get Castillon off my back after this, yeah?”

“Already working on it, sweetheart,” Hawke promised. “He has contacts in the Imperium, I’m going through those to pay your debt.”

Eyes narrow, she said, “Not paying my debt with other slaves, I hope.”

Hawke’s mouth became a thin, grim line. “Slaves are equivalent to currency; if he takes payment, it will be in gold. I don’t tend to sell my people unless they request it.”

“Who _wants_ to be sold?” Isabela blurted, surprised.

Hawke shrugged. “There were a couple who reunited with a previous master who’d had to sell them when they fell on hard times and couldn’t afford to keep slaves. So far, that’s the only situation that’s cropped up among my people.”

“Fucking Tevinter,” Isabela muttered. “What do we want to do with this guy?”

Wall-Eyed Sam made a small whimpering noise when Hawke’s gaze landed on him. “Please don’t kill me!”

“Why would I - ?” Hawke shook his head. “Never mind. He’s not important, let him go. You, Sam, keep your fucking mouth shut about all of this or I’ll hunt you down and make you suffer. You’ve heard about the ex-guardsman in the alienage?”

Shuddering violently with his fear, Sam nodded.

“I can do worse. Go.”

Isabela released her hold on him, and Sam was off like a shot, slamming out the door of the warehouse fast enough to leave dust raised behind him.

“The Tome of Koslun,” Hawke murmured, taking the book from Isabela. His brow furrowed as he took in the relic that had caused all of this; he sighed. “It’s late now. We’ll go to the Viscount first thing in the morning. Carver, want to come home or keep playing Coterie?”

“Hilarious,” Carver grunted. “And fuck you, I like the Coterie. I’m not living with you and your elf harem… but I guess I can visit sometimes now.”

“Not too often,” Hawke warned. “I’m just barely getting used to your stupid face again, and overexposure might kill me.”

“I should be so lucky,” Carver snapped.

* * *

"Is that it?" Dumar demanded, standing from his seat and leaning over his desk. "That's the book they want?"

He was blinking rapidly, calling attention to the darkened, swollen skin beneath his eyes. It was to his servants' credit that those were the only visible signs of his stress: his hair and clothing were as appropriate as could be expected, if uninspired by fashion.

Hawke held the distaste from his voice and expression as he presented the book. "This is the Tome of Koslun, what the Qunari seek. With your permission, I will take it to the Arishok immediately."

Dumar blinked a few times, and then shook his head. "No... they should come here to get it! That is diplomatic, isn't it? I show them that we aren't keeping anything from them, that they won't be kept in that compound any longer than it takes to find them a ship out."

"That's... not the best idea," Hawke tried. "Viscount, even if we're planning to give them what they want, it isn't smart to invite Qunari in anywhere."

Dumar smiled, though his nose wrinkled cruelly as he did. "No, we'll invite them. Show them... we aren't afraid. I'll tell the Arishok we have a ship ready and waiting for them, and they can be gone within the day. I can have my city back again."

Hawke tried again, but Dumar wouldn't be talked out of it and Hawke didn't want to press. Dumar was more unstable than ever after Seamus' death, even knowing that his murderer Petrice was caught and already killed. He wasn't quite to the stage Hawke would call howling mad, but he was on that well-trodden path to it.

"Bran!" Dumar called out to the Seneschal.

"I heard, Messere," Bran said, radiating disapproval - at Dumar instead of Hawke or some unfortunate citizen, for a change. "I will send a runner straight away."

"Not one of the kids," Hawke muttered to him before Bran left the office.

"Of course not," Bran agreed, eyes shadowing as he remembered how easily Seamus had been swayed. "This is clearly a job for a guardsman."

They went out into the great hall to wait for the Arishok's arrival, Hawke's friends - Varric, Aveline, and Fenris - gathered around him off to the side of Dumar, who paced nervously in front of a brace of chairs meant for visitors to sit and wait. Somehow word was spreading about the expected guests, as the various nobles and other people who hung around the great hall of the Keep were clearing out at speed.

The Arishok arrived accompanied by a sparse guard force of six Qunari. Hawke’s eye caught on the doors to the Keep closing behind the massive Qunari, doors swinging shut with no visible impetus and a very final-sounding clang.

“Not good,” he muttered.

“Magister, the Tome,” Dumar said leadingly, waving with his hand for Hawke to step up to the Arishok. “Arishok, here is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“Koslun,” the Arishok rumbled, reaching for the book. Hawke didn’t cover his half of the distance, keeping the ancient book close to his chest. The Arishok glared, hand outstretched in demand.

“I give you this and you leave Kirkwall,” Hawke said, meeting his eye fearlessly.

“I must have the thief who stole it as well,” the Arishok growled. “The Qun demands her life for what she tried to take from us.”

“She’s missing,” Hawke lied, simply. “Has been for months now. She ran off the second I caught wind of her.”

The Arishok hummed, the sound a reverberating thing in his massive chest. He examined Hawke’s expression and body language thoroughly, and when he was finished with his inspection declared, “You lie. You know where she is, and you will hand her over to me.”

Heart quickening, Hawke replied quietly. “I wouldn’t even if I could. Leave with your book, Arishok.”

“I will have the thief. If it must be over your dead and broken body, so be it.”

“So be it,” Hawke repeated, drawing his staff from his back.

The Arishok drew his sword and axe, growled to his warriors, “Stay back. This is between basalit-an and myself.”

Dumar opened his mouth to protest this sudden turn of events, and was knocked back by a force push from Hawke.

“You guys stay out of this,” Hawke told his own friends, just barely glancing over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of them: Fenris with a torn, stricken look on his face, Varric pale and grave, and Aveline going red-faced with fury even as she ushered the Viscount protectively behind them.

“Hawke, you can’t take him,” Varric said, just barely loud enough to be heard, sounding sick. “You told me Qunari have a natural resistance to your type of magic. You can’t take him alone.”

“We can’t take them together, either,” Hawke retorted, definitely loud enough for the Arishok to hear. “Isn’t that right, Arishok? You’ve got men outside those doors, too.”

“I do,” the Arishok confirmed with a satisfied nod.

“If I beat him in single combat, they’ll leave peacefully. If I lose, they get Isabela.”

“And you’re dead,” Fenris’ voice was shaking, hoarse. “If you lose, Master, he kills you.”

“Hawke, that’s a hell of a risk with some stacked odds,” Varric insisted. “We can take them together.”

“There’s no risk,” Hawke turned his full attention to the Arishok, searching for that first movement he’d be taking in the battle. “I will win.”

* * *

Hawke had always found it easy to be confident, or to at the very least project confidence in all situations. He could project it all he wanted even now, but he wasn’t feeling it nearly as much when his first mind-altering spell splashed off the Arishok like water.

The Arishok shook his head, horns gleaming cruelly in the light, and finished his step forward to sweep his sword sideways through Hawke.

Hawke ducked and rolled backwards, coming up with an automatic paralysis spell at the tip of his staff. The Arishok’s forward foot stuck to the floor for a moment, causing him to tip forward, and then freed itself in time to let him recover.

_Shit_ , Hawke thought, heart sinking.

The rest of the Keep faded away into the background, unimportant compared to the unstoppable force trying to gut him. The Arishok was always advancing, taking one unhurried step forward for every pace that Hawke backed up. Fire spells singed his skin and ice frosted his weapons and armor, but Hawke wasn’t an elemental mage and he could barely chip away at the Qunari’s natural defense.

“You should stop running,” the Arishok told him, voice a roll of thunder. “The dwarf was right: you cannot win.”

“There’s different definitions of winning,” Hawke replied. If he could get the Arishok talking - if he could buy more time.

“Your goals achieved and your enemies dead is the only true definition,” the Arishok said, and then he lunged too fast to be dodged.

Hawke brought his staff up, and fell backwards with a pained cry as both weapons bit deep into the wood and its iron core, a splintering sound reaching his ears. The force behind the Arishok drove Hawke down to one knee and lodged both blades in the staff.

“Depends on the goals,” Hawke gasped, mouth running on autopilot as he struggled to do something, to act against the massive weight still bearing down behind the axes. “And on the enemies.”

With a screeching noise, the iron core of Hawke’s staff cracked apart under the force of the axe. He wrenched away at the same instant, taking two halves of a staff and a stiff knee with him, just barely escaping from underneath the Arishok.

“Stop running away, ‘Vint!” the Arishok shouted, finally moved to some emotion. “Do not delay me any longer! There is no help coming for you, no call for aid has escaped this Keep or your estate.”

Hawke’s blood ran ice-cold.

The world seemed to fade, light turning dim and taking on a dreamlike quality. He stood upright but almost casually, staff blade in one hand and the head in the other, and his eyes were open but there was no one home behind them.

* * *

Just on the other side of the Veil, Hawke faced a full-length mirror set into a simple bronze frame, showing him his own still reflection and the poison-green surroundings.

From the fog, a soft and childish voice asked, “Are you going to die?”

“Not if I can help it,” Hawke replied, glancing around. But, as in a dream, he couldn’t focus on anything. There was the green mist and the mirror - he was certain there were other things here, but those two were all he could remember after he’d turned his face from the others.

“Not much you could have helped,” the child said, almost smug. “I guess you did your best, like always. Eventually it wasn’t going to be enough.”

“I’m not dead yet,” Hawke countered. He thought he could almost pinpoint where the voice was coming from, and he’d finally remembered that this was the Fade, that the real world was somewhere else. “You’re mixing tenses, talking like I’m already gone.”

“Aren’t you? You’re here.”

Hawke hesitated, and then shook his head. Even if he wasn’t sure, he had to act like it. “I’m not dead. You pulled me here. My staff broke and then… the Arishok was across the room. He hasn’t killed me yet. Why am I here? Who are you?”

“Who? Who? Who?” the child’s voice laughed and deepened. The reflection in the mirror started moving, walking towards him. There was no glass; it was an empty frame that Hawke’s double walked around easily, grinning at him. In Hawke’s own voice it asked, “Don’t you recognize me? I couldn’t talk last time we met, but I learned a lot from you.”

“You’re… that wisp,” Hawke realized, the connection coming to him with the easy unnatural sense of dreams. “The one who led us to water and asked for my memories.”

“He remembers!” The other Hawke looked delighted, jumping and turning in the air. He forgot to land again after, staying floating in the air. “I’m not a little wisp anymore though. I’m a spirit now!”

“I’m… happy for you?” Hawke tried. He was getting a krick in his neck looking up at his double.

“My name is Command now,” the spirit offered. “Well, actually it’s Command Simple Creatures, but I’m the only Command spirit in the area so you don’t have to get that specific.”

“That’s nice,” Hawke said, impatience leaking into his tone. Mystery solved; “Can I get back to the real world and the trying not to die thing?”

“You’re dead, though,” Command said, blinking at him and finally sinking back to the ground. “Time passes differently, but it passes. The Arishok has crossed the room and is pulling back his axe to take off your head. You don’t have time to duck.”

“I’ll do something,” Hawke snapped, fingers twitching as he wished for his staff - whole - to blast away this stupid spirit. “I’ll figure something out, but I can’t do anything from here.”

“You can’t do anything at all,” Command said, smiling simply. He raised his hand and held it just above Hawke’s shoulder. “The axe is here.”

Hawke stumbled back away from the spirit, horror turning his stomach as he realized he was going to die, here, not in his body but getting his death narrated for him by a stupid spirit he’d inspired.

“I can do something, though,” Command offered, blankly pleasant as he cocked his head at Hawke.

Numb, it took a moment for Hawke to realize what the spirit wanted. He laughed.

“Not even to escape death would I let you possess me, demon,” he said, bitterly. This was a better pitch than any other he’d gotten, but he had made his peace with death.

Command made a derisive noise. “Possession. Why would I want that? I want more memories - all of them. There’s so much I still don’t know, so much that’s wonderful and awful about your world. I want to see it, but I don’t want to leave my home.”

“Memories,” Hawke said, thoughts racing. Memories were easy, simple, concrete - he could share that in exchange for his life. “In return for what?”

“The power of Command in the mortal world,” Command said, “For however long I can provide it.”

“Long enough to save my life?”

The spirit shrugged. “Depends on how good you are at having command.”

“Can I at least get a crash course?” Hawke asked, as green mist swirled around him.

Instead of an answer, there was only childish giggling again.

* * *

Thought returned first, lightning-quick - every nerve jangling a warning at him, screaming _sharp metal close to neck_ \- with no time to act.

Hawke Commanded the metal of the axe to stop being solid.

It had no will of its own to resist him, was only cohesive through the habit of materials; it disintegrated into glittering metallic dust even as momentum carried the dust in a gentle swish against his neck, and the handle of the axe passed harmlessly half an inch from him.

The Arishok followed through, shocked and staring dumbly at the length of wood in his hand where he’d held a formidable weapon before. He went stumbling to the side, regaining his feet, and shook off the surprise quickly, coming back around with the sword.

Hawke commanded that one to dust as well, and then for the air to grow heavy on top of the Arishok. The massive Qunari grunted as he lost his other weapon and an unseen force began to press down upon him. He tried to stay standing, but his knees buckled quickly under the weight, and then his spine bent, hands landing automatically to brace him, his heavy horns dragging his head down until they were the only thing keeping his skull off the ground.

“Abomination,” the Arishok snarled, turning his head with one horn as a pivot so that he could glare at Hawke out of the corner of one insane eye.

“I win,” Hawke gasped, the power of Command leaking away slowly.

“You will have half a victory. Hissrad!”

The sing of steel being drawn from a sheath. Hawke turned around, realizing that the world had been moving on around him while he'd been fighting for his life. He searched with a frantic gaze for Fenris and the others - spread out from the wall they'd been standing against, Fenris closest to Hawke and covered liberally in gore, three dead Qunari around him and another trying to keep him from Hawke, Aveline and Varric teamed up against a fifth, and the sixth - 

The sixth loomed darkly over Dumar, dragging his serrated dagger through the Viscount's pale throat.

"You petty fool," Hawke sneered, whirling on the Arishok. The Qunari was struggling, had just managed to get his head up, and Hawke grabbed him by one horn and glared into his eyes. "You know you've failed. Why don't you just die?"

"The Qun demands - " The Arishok began. Hawke was done listening and done playing along; he still held the bladed end of his staff in his other hand, and he stabbed it deep into the soft tissue under the Qunari's jaw.

The Arishok made a surprised gurgling sound as he died, and silence fell.

"Shit," Varric swore, softly.

Hissrad, the one who had killed Dumar, said something quickly in Qunlat to the two other Qunari; Hawke's lip curled as he asked, "Are you in charge, then?"

Hissrad looked back at him with just as much disgust. "For now."

Hawke tilted his head at the Arishok's body. "Are you gonna make better choices?"

"You won the duel, basalit-an; we will go without the thief. But if we see her, she is dead."

"Take your fucking Tome," Hawke snarled, "And get out of my city."

* * *

"Aveline?" Hawke turned to her after the Qunari had left the Keep, taking with them the Qunari bodies and the two squads who had been waiting outside the door for the signal to enter.

"I... I don't...." She trailed off, staring tiredly at the Viscount's corpse slowly staining the carpet. She took a deep breath. "I'll get some guards and the coroner."

"I can take care of the rest," Bran offered, his voice shaking. He stepped out of the vestibule of the Viscount's office, where he'd been hiding for the battle. He swallowed thickly. "I know what has to be done. But... who's going to be Viscount now?"

Hawke met Varric's gaze helplessly. "I don't know. Just... give me time." His gut clenched as he remembered the spirit of Command, a decision made in the moment that he was growing less sure of now that he had time to think about it. "I have to go home, I have to check on my people. The Arishok said...."

"Go," Bran said. "We don't need you here right now. And, Magister... thank you for trying. You told him not to do it like this; I'll remember that."

Hawke nodded, slow with exhaustion, and led Fenris and Varric through the quiet Hightown streets to his Estate. They were deserted, perhaps because of the Qunari who'd come marching through twice now.

There was nothing amiss outside of his house, and Hawke was greeted by everyone as soon as he stepped inside: Anders, Merrill, Arianni, Feynriel, Bodan, Sandal, and Karl all gathered in the front sitting room, standing to meet him at the door.

"Are you all alright?" Hawke asked. "The Arishok mentioned the estate... did they try to hurt you?"

"Stood guard outside it," Anders told him, still angry about it. "So we couldn't get to the Keep like you asked. I wanted to leave through the basement anyway, but then Merrill pointed out that we'd be leaving the others unprotected in the house. Then just a bit ago more of them came by, carrying some bodies, and collected the others and left. We figured you'd handled it."

"The Arishok is dead and the Qunari are leaving," Hawke told them. "I'm tired; Arianni, can I get something to eat?"

"I'll have something for you in a minute," she promised, dragging Feynriel into the kitchen after her. He went, complaining loudly that he wasn't in danger anymore and she could let him stay.

"Is everybody else alright?" Merrill asked.

"Everyone is fine," Hawke sighed, "Except for the Viscount, who was killed."

He let that sink in, getting up to find something to drink. Bodahn was already there at his elbow with a glass of whiskey, offered with a wry smile. "You look like you need this, Messere."

"Just Hawke," he corrected the dwarf. "And, thanks."

Hawke sat back down, one arm wrapping around Fenris when he chose to sit on the arm of Hawke's chair. He stared into the middle distance as voices swirled around him, Varric telling the story of the Viscount's death to a quiet audience.

With Dumar dead and no immediate replacement, Hawke's position in the city was more uncertain than ever, balancing on the edge of a knife. His own safety, and the lives of everyone he'd promised to protect here, was in danger, and he couldn't think of how to fix it. If the Templars came for him... he wasn't sure that he'd be able to stop it.

His circling thoughts were broken by a knock on the door. Hawke stood mechanically to go answer it, ignoring Bodahn trying to get there ahead of him. It could be anyone - Qunari who'd decided they wanted revenge, Templars taking advantage of the chaos, any of Hawke's numerous enemies.

Hawke opened the door, ready to fight with his bare hands if he had to. His heart sank and he thought, _Maker, no_. It was worse.

On his doorstep, Bethany put down her bags, grinned at him, and said, "Gary! Come on, where's my hug?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on the battle: techinically, mage Hawke is the easiest to win the Arishok fight with... if you're specced as an elemental mage, which most people are at least a little bit. Unfortunately, our Hawke is way more support-oriented and doesn't have a whole lot of elemental ability, certainly not enough to fuck up the Arishok. True, Qunari are weak to ice, etc, but.... Arishok knows he's facing a mage. Why not wear mage-resistant armor? That's my explanation. Also, artistic license.
> 
> In other news: Fenris gets to relive Danarius' death, but with Hawke this time! He flips out and starts attacking the Qunari to get to Hawke (sorry if this isn't clear in the narrative).


	33. old friends and family

Hawke just stared at her, for long enough that Bethany began to frown and ask, "Is something wrong?"

He sighed, and swept forward to hug her. "Yes, but it's not your fault. This just... isn't a good day to be in Kirkwall. What are you doing here? Is that... Varania?"

"Hello, Garrett," Varania waved at him, coming up behind Bethany with more bags. She looked back over her shoulder and said, "Orana, this is the right house!"

"I'm going to have to start doubling people up on rooms," Hawke mumbled absently. "What are you all doing here?"

"Trouble in Qarinus," Bethany stated, beginning to fish around in her robe's pocket for something. "I brought you a letter from the house... but I think I can tell you what it says. They've made their move."

“Already? Do you know what’s happening?” Hawke caught sight of Orana and Quill finally, bringing up the rest of their bags. “Hold that thought, let’s get you all inside first. And… introduced, I guess. There’s a bit of a gathering going on already.”

“Throwing a party?” Bethany asked. “Is that any different down here in the south?”

Hawke picked up her bags and led his new entourage into the hall. “Haven’t actually thrown any parties yet, so I wouldn’t know for sure. Something happened just earlier today, and we’re all still gathered from it. Come in, ladies… set those bags down there, I’ve got servants who can take care of it then. Who’s this, then?”

Hawke was pretending to have just noticed the little boy following closely behind Orana, carrying a bag almost as big as himself, and nearly vibrating with suppressed feeling. “Uncle Gary!” the elflet shrieked, dropping his burden and rocketing into Hawke’s knees. “It’s me, Quill!”

“Can’t be,” Hawke insisted, hefting the boy onto his hip. “Little Quill was much smaller than you last time I saw him. Are you sure you’re not his older brother or something?”

“No, it’s me,” Quill insisted. “I’m just big now, ‘cos I turned six.”

“Where’s Fenris?” Varania asked, looking around the hall. “He’s not attached to your hip the way he usually is.”

“Left him in the sitting room,” Hawke said. “Through here, come on….”

Hawke led the way, stepping into the sitting room and to the side to make way for the women to come through. Silence fell among his friends already present, seeing him with a child on his hip.

“Hawke, what’s….” Varric began, and then stopped.

“Everyone, this is my sister, Bethany, our friend and Fenris’ sister Varania, and Bethany’s servant Orana. And, of course, Orana’s son Aquilus, although he goes by Quill.” Hawke looked over to his friends, took a deep breath, and started pointing. “And this is Varric, Isabela, Anders, Merrill, Bodahn, his son Sandal, Karl, and here comes Arianni and her son Feynriel. Did I get everybody?”

Merrill offered a loud and cheerful, “Hello! Nice to meet you!” which drowned out the quieter greetings of everyone else in the room.

“Quite the collection you’ve got, Garrett,” Bethany said to him, eyes sparkling. “Hello, Fenris.”

Fenris nodded and greeted, “Bethany.”

Quill wriggled in Hawke’s grip, demanding to be let down. His feet had barely touched the floor before he shot over to Fenris and wrapped arms around his knees. “Dad!”

Varric choked on his drink; Isabela whacked him on the back as she began to cackle; Anders sputtered, “You  _spawned_?”

They were the only three close enough to hear at first, but the news traveled quickly around the circle. Bethany turned to Hawke and asked, “Did you not tell your friends anything about us?”

“They know the important stuff,” Hawke said, a little petulantly.

Ever the shit-starter, Varric raised his hand and said, “I’ve never heard half your names before, and I’m writing his biography.”

“Why is he writing a biography?” Varania wondered, while Bethany smacked Hawke on the arm and admonished, “Gary!”

“What? It never came up!” Hawke whined. “Fenris, aren’t you supposed to protect me?”

Fenris looked like he might need protecting more. Quill had climbed up into Hawke’s vacated seat and was chattering almost directly into Fenris’ ear, bouncing on his knees as he related everything that had happened to him recently.

“Quill, come here,” Orana stepped forward to pick the child up, ignoring his ‘But mom!’. “Nice to see you again, Fenris.”

Fenris didn’t even try to hide his relief when he nodded back at her. “I hope you are both well?”

“Very well,” she confirmed, smiling a little. “Working for Bethany has been wonderful. I never imagined….”

Fenris didn’t wait for her to finish, just gave her a knowing look. “It would have been very difficult to imagine something like this from where we used to be.”

“I can’t even see there from here,” Orana said with a helpless laugh. “Quill and I did miss you, you know. How has it been down here?”

“Very strange,” Fenris admitted with a wry look, and started telling her some of the highlights.

* * *

Hawke, meanwhile, had drawn Bethany and Varania over to Karl and dragged Anders with them; Anders was visibly disturbed by Karl’s Tranquility, but hanging on to his temper.

“This is the Tranquil that gave me the idea,” Hawke said. “Karl, my sister Bethany and her research partner Varania.”

“Nice to meet you,” Karl said pleasantly.

“And it was exposure to an emerging abomination that suppressed the Tranquility,” Bethany said thoughtfully. “You wrote that he doesn’t seem to remember the incident?”

Hawke waved at Karl, who cocked his head to the side and said, “I remember that night in the Chantry. Serah Hawke has told me what he believes happened, although I have no memory of the particular moment.”

“Also,” Anders said, “Not an abomination.”

“Sorry?” Bethany frowned. “Garrett, it wasn’t?”

Hawke coughed. “Uh, no, I just couldn’t really put into writing what actually happened. Anders is merged with a spirit of Justice, shared hosting of the body. It was when Justice was emerging that Karl overcame the Tranquility.”

Varania snapped her fingers and traded looks with Bethany. “There must be a difference. Is there? The other research says no, but there has to be.”

“Other research?” Anders asked.

“The latest Imperial research suggests that there’s little difference between demons and spirits, at least in the definition and essence of things,” Bethany explained. “Obviously in practice they’re quite different. But we could only really test with demons - spirits are very rare in the Imperium - and we could never replicate the effect for any amount of time, even with all other factors as similar as possible. So that means there might be some essential difference between spirits and demons after all.”

“You tested…?” Anders looked a bit sick. “Abominations?”

Bethany’s eyes went wide and her hands came up as though showing she was weaponless. “No! No, no, we didn’t make abominations to test it. Garrett,  _what_  have you been telling them about the Imperium?”

“They never believe me!” Garrett complained.

“No, we tested it with summoned demons in animal corpses. It’s the same energy.”

Anders frowned as he felt Justice stir within him. “Hang on, he’s got something to say. Is that alright?”

Bethany began to ask what he meant, but Hawke just waved a hand and said, “Always ready to hear from our resident spirit.”

“IT IS NOT THE ENERGY,” Justice intoned in Anders’ echoed voice. Bethany and Varania gasped in unison, staring at his glowing eyes. “CAN YOU NOT TELL THE DIFFERENCE? POSSESSION OF AN ANIMAL IS NOT THE SAME AS POSSESSION OF A HUMAN, NOR IS POSSESSION OF A CORPSE THE SAME AS POSSESSION OF A LIVING BODY. THE ENERGY IS THE SAME, BUT IT CAN ONLY BE FULLY EXPRESSED THROUGH A LIVING HUMAN BODY.”

“Justice, I assume?” Bethany said, recovering herself quickly. “Can I ask one more thing?”

“IF YOU MUST.”

“Between a living animal host or a dead human host, which allows for more ‘expression’?”

Justice drew Anders’ features into a scowl. “YOU WILL NOT SUMMON MORE SPIRITS TO DO YOUR BIDDING.”

“Not even to cure the Tranquil?” Bethany pressed.

“MY PRESENCE DID NOT CURE HIM,” Justice reminded them, eyes blazing, “A CORPSE OR AN ANIMAL HAS NO HOPE. YOU WILL NOT TRAP MORE HERE FOR YOUR PLEASURE.”

“Trap?” Bethany turned to Hawke. “He’s trapped? You said Anders was a willing host!”

Hawke spread his hands. “I don’t know how to send him back so, yeah, he’s trapped. Not by us.”

* * *

“Messere Hawke is a very popular man,” Bodahn observed, gazing out over the gathering. They’d broken off into three separate groups, each talking through their own reunion.

“I knew about the sister, but I wonder who the other two elves are,” Varric said, just in time for Orana and Fenris’ conversation to wind up and for her to overhear him.

“Oh! You’re… Bodahn?” she smiled uncertainly at Varric, still holding a sleepy-looking Quill on her hip.

“Varric Tethras, but don’t worry about it. There’s way more of us than there are of you. How do you know Hawke?”

Orana’s mouth twisted to the side. “I used to be a slave; my mistress was Hadriana, who was Magister Danarius’ apprentice. She was… a typical magister, really. Not as cruel as Danarius, but not nearly as good as Hawke. After she died, Hawke bought her slaves and set those of us free that wanted it.”

Isabela leaned forward and said, “From what he’s told us, Hawke doesn’t think a lot of slaves want to be free.”

Orana shook her head. “Most of his don’t, that’s true. For others it’s never an option, so they prefer not to think about it. I didn’t ask, at first - I was assigned as Bethany’s, like Fenris is for Hawke. But when I got pregnant with Quill, I asked and Hawke kept his word. Freed slaves are Liberati, but a Liberati’s child is a full citizen of the Imperium. I wanted that for my son.”

“And even though his father is still a slave, that's not a problem?” Varric asked, almost delicately.

“It runs through the mother, so no."

“So how’d he get you with a kid when he’s almost physically attached to Hawke?” Isabela asked, eyes twinkling. “Unless Hawke was in the bed, too?”

“Oh, no, I’ve never… with Hawke,” Orana flushed and looked down. “It’s not that he’s not nice - ”

“You don’t have to explain anything to them, Orana,” Fenris broke in, shifting around so that she was half-hidden behind him. He stared down the others. “I used to spend time with her while Hawke was with my sister.”

Isabela and Varric whistled in unison, the lilting tones that Fenris had come to recognize as a shorthand for 'the balls on that man'. It was frequently applied to Hawke.

"Ma, are we staying here now?" Quill asked, leaning his head against her shoulder. "With Dad an' Uncle Gary?"

"Gary," Varric repeated quietly to himself, delighted by the nickname.

"For now, yes," Orana said to him. "Are you sleepy, little owl?"

"I can show you the servants quarters to put him down," Arianni offered. "Or, um, do you share a room with Bethany...?"

"Servants' rooms are fine - I'm not sure that we'll have enough space with everyone who's here, otherwise." She caught Fenris' surprised look and grinned. "Even assuming that you still room with Hawke most of the time."

"There's three rooms," Arianni said, beginning to lead Orana away, "Bodahn and Sandal have one, but my son and I have been using the others. We could do families together or a mothers' room and sons' room, which do you think?"

“For now I’d like him with me,” Orana decided, “But if they get along, Quill and your Feynriel might want to room together….”

* * *

Hawke eventually managed to tear Bethany away from the topic of Tranquility, although it took another half-hour. He drew her out of the sitting room, across the hall to the library, and closed the door behind them. The insulated silence among the books was almost deafening after the homely racket his friends had been making.

“I missed you,” Bethany said, embracing him again with wet eyes. “It’s not the same, when I knew you were so far away.”

“I didn’t really think to ask, with everything else, but - you’re okay, Bethy? Carver and I haven’t really been there for you for a while.”

“Knowing that you’d come as fast as I could call helped,” Bethany admitted, “And I’m an adult, Garrett. I can handle things on my own.”

“Maker willing, you’ll never have to. So, what’s the news from Seheron?”

Bethany told him, and it boiled down to what they’d been expecting: The Imperium had sent troops in, but the Fog Warriors were holding fast. They were greater in number than they had ever been before, more organized, and credit for that laid with the Hawke family for giving them the neutral ground for feuding tribes to meet on, and land enough to support their troops.

“The Imperium hasn’t caught on yet that they’re like a real army,” Bethany told him, eyes twinkling. “The Fog Warriors continue to strike from ambush, which hides their numbers well. Already, some of the Magisters are whining about the cost compared to the profit, especially given that the farms have being doing so badly the last few years.

That was more Fog Warrior magic, brining plague and disaster to the cropland, as well as raiding it to feed themselves.

“Bethany, I’m glad to see you, but this isn’t a great time to be a mage in Kirkwall.” Hawke automatically reached out to his side, and then realized that Fenris hadn’t followed him. He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “The Viscount was killed earlier today, and the Knight-Commander of the city is strict, to say the least. A true believer that magic is the Maker’s punishment. I don’t know what she’ll do next….”

“Garrett, this isn’t a friendly visit,” Bethany’s expression had grown serious. “Someone in Qarinus caught wind of what Varania and I were researching. They had some thugs corner Varania and take the papers she had on her, they didn’t get anything important or incriminating, but it was confirmation that someone was paying attention. And they don’t want Tranquility cured.”

Hawke demanded, “Do you know who?”

Shaking her head, “If I knew, I’d have holed up, written you a letter, and waited. I don’t even have any real suspects - it’s not a popular idea among Magisters. Tranquility is the only thing they have left to hold over each others heads. But we took all our books and materials, packed up the house, and left.”

“And with Seheron rising, you couldn’t escape there,” Hawke muttered, “Shit. Alright.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, show of hands, who called who Quill was going to be? He's been mentioned before a couple times, with some (what I thought were) very subtle hints. Don't worry folks, this won't be turning into a kidfic. Quill has a different purpose here.
> 
> Some more magic theory, playing fast and loose with canon - and remember, characters say what they know to the best of their ability, not necessarily what's true.


	34. in the dark

“The first shipment from home should be arriving soon,” Bethany said, sitting in the armchair across from Hawke’s. She glanced up to accept a cup of coffee from Orana with a smile, and then looked back at her brother. “We should be able to fill this library twice over with what’s coming over the next few weeks.”

Hawke hummed absently and turned a page on the newest published research into entropy and its sister school, necromancy, and why they were so similar despite dealing with seemingly different bases. Then he processed Bethany’s words and demanded, “Is there something wrong with my library?”

She gave him a dry look. “Garrett, it’s half-empty. One whole shelf is just multiple copies of Varric’s books. I’ve been here a week and you’ve gone through half my stash; what have you been doing to keep yourself occupied?”

Hawke shook his hand and said vaguely, “This and that. Investing, exploring, plotting, murdering. The usual.”

“The four tenets of Imperial socety,” Bethany agreed, mock-grave, “If you substitute exploring for conquering.”

“Are you conquering something?” Varania came into the room, trailing an exhausted-looking Fenris. “I thought Hawke had Kirkwall pretty well under his thumb already.”

“Not as well as I’d like,” Hawke muttered, and leaned forward in his chair to catch Fenris around the waist and pull him into his lap. “Did you two have fun catching up?”

“We came to the usual understanding,” Fenris muttered, leaning against Hawke.

“Kirkwall is barely under control right now,” Hawke continued the earlier comment, “And its not my control. The Seneschal is doing the Viscount’s job, but he doesn’t want the title or the power, and Meredith is exerting influence with Elthina to block off all the suggested candidates until the Maker ‘sends an approving sign’ or some such nonsense. Which means she’s free to move against me the second Aveline’s guard drops even a little. Sooner, if she can import a few more Templars to even out the numbers.”

“Will she move against you? From what you’ve said, you haven’t even met the woman. Maybe talk to her, work the Hawke charm.” Bethany suggested, sipping her coffee. She looked down into her cup. “Hm. Not as good as the Imperial stuff.”

“The beans are from the Anderfels instead of Seheron,” Hawke told her, “And I’m very sure she wants me dead or locked up. Not only am I a magister, I’m a mage living freely in her city and providing safe haven for other mages. According to my sources in the gallows, it’s driving her mad that people aren’t more worried about it.”

“So… assassination?” Varania guessed, looking between the two of them.

Hawke snapped his fingers and winked at her. “Read my mind, Vee. Anders already knows a way into the Gallows, so we were just waiting on some supplies - which came earlier today, meaning tonight is the night.”

“Fenris?” Bethany asked, half a smile on her face.

“Fenris,” Hawke confirmed, lifting one of Fenris’ hands and kissing the lyrium lines on the back of it. Against his shoulder, Fenris smirked and made his hand glow.

* * *

Later, Fenris ducked out of the entrance to the Gallows tunnel, covered head to toe in thin, dark grey armor, and said to Hawke, “I’m not followed.”

Hawke relaxed, lowering his staff - Bethany’s staff, until he could have his repaired adequately - and glancing him over. “Everything go well?”

“She did not even wake. Whatever you gave her servants to put in her food, it worked.”

“Anders’ work,” Hawke said, proudly. “Come on, let’s get back; it’s late.” They began the trudge back through Darktown’s tunnels and sewers, half a city away from Hawke’s basement entrance.

“How are you liking having Quill so close again?” Hawke asked him, one arm thrown over Fenris’ shoulders.

Fenris hesitated, and then admitted, “I’m not sure what to do with a child. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to need much from me.”

Hawke was silent for a long minute, remembering his own father - what he’d done right, what he hadn’t. Finally he said, “Probably just try not to pass on any wars to him. I think that’s the best thing we can do for our kids.”

“I don’t think I’ll be fighting any wars,” Fenris turned his head so Hawke could see his smile, “Unless you get us involved in another one. Any plans on that, master?”

Idly, “Not at the moment, dear, but you know how these things just crop up.”

“Then I should be fine for now.”

Hawke laughed and pulled gently at his white hair, kissing the side of his head. “And Varania? You looked very tired after your talk with her today, although it might serve you right for having her chase you all around for most of the week.”

“She understands,” Fenris sighed. “Or as close to it as is possible. I don’t… know how to say it, master.” A long, fretful silence; Hawke didn’t speak, letting Fenris work through it. “Slavery, freedom, our mother and our former master, and her being free, and magic… Danarius…. I don’t know. I don’t. And I don’t want to have to think about it, but she always brings it up. She always asks.”

“If you want to be free?”

“If I’m happy where I am.”

“She doesn’t seem like she resents you for freeing her anymore,” Hawke mused. “Why does she always ask you that?”

Fenris shrugged uncomfortably and replied, “She just says she wants to make sure she made the right choice.”

* * *

“Great plan, champion,” Varric drawled the next day, when Hawke showed up for Wicked Grace with half his household in tow. “You couldn’t have shared it with the rest of us?”

“Plausible deniability,” Hawke replied, shrugging at him. “Although if all goes well, none of you should ever have to be questioned about it.”

“Come on, Hawke,” Isabela protested, shuffling the deck of cards. “No one’s going to buy that the Knight-Commander overdosed on lyrium and died.”

Hawke raised one finger, triumphantly. “But they don’t have to buy it, Bela. I just need for there to be enough confusion and enough questioning around it that no one can say a mage _definitely_ did it. Specifically,” he turned his wrist to flick his finger toward himself, “This mage.”

“How’d you do it?” Varric asked. “Strictly for narrative purposes, of course.”

He thought about saying _Fenris can walk through wooden doors_ , but instead went with, “Lyrium overdose is technically undetectable in Templars, so if you just leave a few empty vials lying around… people draw their own conclusions.”

“Marks on the body from actual cause of death, though,” Isabela pointed out. “Even a needle leaves a mark.”

“There aren’t any marks,” _because Fenris can reach through and stop a heart with just one finger._

Hawke thought he was subtle enough about it - they would hopefully assume that he’d taken the week to hire a professional, a Crow - but Varric was squinting thoughtfully at Fenris.

“Hawke,” he said, slowly, “You didn’t.”

Bethany nudged the door open, cutting off whatever Hawke had been about to say. She was carrying three bottles of wine, and behind her came Varania with a small cask. “What didn’t Garrett do? Aside from help the ladies with their burdens, that is.”

“Last time I offered to carry something for you, you stepped on my foot!”

“I think he sent Fenris to kill the Knight-Commander.”

“Oh,” Bethany blinked, and looked at Fenris; he raised his eyebrows in response. “Is that why you’ve looked so smug all day?”

“I was able to remove a threat to master Hawke,” Fenris said, shrugging. “It was a good thing.”

Hawke sighed noisily. “So much for keeping that a secret.”

“Wait, are we meant to be sad that the Knight-Commander is dead?” Varania asked, setting her cask down on the table. “I thought she was bad for us.”

“We’re sad that Hawke sent _Fenris_ ,” Varric said, stressing it.

“But Fenris’ markings make him a great assassin,” Varania said, unsure sure where Varric’s problem was coming from.

Varric threw up his hands and exclaimed, “‘Vints!”

Hawke high-fived one of them. “We’re great at assassinations!”

“Shut the fuck up and play some cards.”

* * *

Hawke went to see Bran the next morning, and caught a familiar-looking messenger by the arm in the street, telling him, "I'm already on my way."

The boy blinked and said, "You're going to the Keep?"

Hawke nodded and tossed him a coin, then continued his leisurely stroll down the street. Fenris beside him had his head on a swivel, keeping an eye on the passing servants and early-rising nobles.

Bran didn't have someone to do his old job, so when Hawke got to the Keep he let himself into the Viscount's office and said, "Good morning, Seneschal."

"I hate you," Bran said, pressing his fingers against his temples, "And everything you do, because it always ends like this - with chaos. I swear to the Maker, if I could get the people to accept a Tevinter Magister as their Viscount I'd throw you to these wolves so fast your stupid scruffy head would spin."

"Scruffy!" Hawke exclaimed, one hand coming up to rub at his short and well-kept beard. "You go too far. Did you just want to yell at me, Bran?"

"Yes!" Bran shouted. "It seems to be the only stress-relief I can get!"

"Well," Hawke blinked, "What's got your panties all bunched up? Meredith is dead, she can't block a nomination anymore."

Bran hissed, "That doesn't matter if the fucking nobles have gotten it into their empty little heads that Kirkwall without a Viscount is better for their purses. Because of the holdouts, no one has enough votes!"

"That sounds like quite the conundrum," Hawke said. "I suppose we could start collecting blackmail and such... who is it you had in mind for a winner?"

"At this point, Hawke, I really do not care," Bran said. "As long as they have to deal with you, and I don't."

"Come on, Bran," Hawke grinned at him, taking on a cajoling tone. "You know I'm good for you. How long was Meredith a thorn in the Keep? You're welcome."

"Maker knows who we'll get next, if they don't like Cullen for it," Bran muttered, and then the Grand Cleric walked in. "Revered Mother! To what do I owe this honor?"

Elthina gave Hawke a disapproving glance - on principle most likely, since if she knew he'd been the one to arrange Meredith's death she'd probably have some Templars with her - and said to Bran, "Seneschal, I wished to inform you in person that an agent of the Divine will be coming to Kirkwall soon to finish the investigation into the Knight-Commander's death." Her head turned stiffly, the corner of her eye grazing over Hawke and Fenris standing mock-respectfully a distance away. "And to evaluate this city's attitude towards its mages and their freedoms."

"Do you know who it is, and when they will be arriving?" Bran asked, tone aggressively polite.

"I have not been informed of her date of arrival," Elthina inclined her head, apologetically, "But I am told she goes by Sister Nightingale."


	35. the left hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nice long one for your wait

The hooded figure sitting on the back ledge of the grain cart looked up when Kirkwall came into view, the road stretched out across the valley between. The cowl wasn’t deep, only enough to hide the top half of a feminine face, revealing her jaw and unsmiling mouth.

“Almost there, lass,” the cart-driver called back in his slight Starkhaven accent. “Got all your stuff together?”

She did; she didn’t respond. They came into Kirkwall undelayed, the cart driver simply waving to the Kirkwall guards in a friendly way. He looked back to inform his passenger of the best places to stay in the city, and found that she’d vanished.

Leliana slipped off the rattling cart easily, soft-soled shoes landing silently on the cobbled streets of Lowtown, and ducked into an alley. A dangerous glare served to warn away the two half-grown boys who eye-balled her person for valuables. She breathed in deeply the stench of Kirkwall - half-familiar, just like the poorer parts of Val Royeux - and fixed her eyes on the spire of the Chantry, easily visible over all the shorter buildings. She set off.

* * *

“Revered Mother,” Leliana greeted, bowing her head. She’d found the Grand Cleric in a private prayer-room, lighting a hundred candles. Leliana didn’t have to wonder why she was praying for guidance; she’d called for Sister Nightingale, after all.

“You can take your hood off in here, Sister,” Elthina said lightly, igniting candle number seventy-eight. “I have seen you at Val Royeux before.”

“It is not to obscure my identity,” Leliana said, removing the hood anyway. “Just so that no one can describe me clearly. And I’ve found it adds a certain authority.”

“Try wearing some of these,” Elthina suggested, gesturing to her own elaborate robes with good humor.

Leliana’s lips thinned in a suppressed smile. “Sometimes I _do_ need to go unnoticed, Mother.”

“Of course. Do you know why I asked the Divine for help?”

“She assumed it had to do with the news of Meredith Stannard’s death; an independent investigation.”

“Necessary,” Elthina’s voice turned grave, “Because I fear that our own have been corrupted. There is a magister here in Kirkwall.”

Leliana nodded. “We know of Magister Hawke, although our understanding was that he kept mostly to himself.”

“Himself, but for getting the Viscount killed and getting the Seneschal to tell everyone that he had, in fact, saved the city. They’re calling him Kirkwall’s Champion now, did you know that?”

“We had heard,” Leliana murmured, not disrupting Elthina’s flow.

“That’s why I think we need the Divine’s help. It’s been years since the magister came to Kirkwall, and so far I haven’t seen a true threat from him - beyond the threat that Tevinter always poses. But perhaps fresh eyes will see something that I have missed, the way I apparently missed Meredith’s condition.”

“Alleged,” Leliana corrected mildly. “Alleged condition.”

“Elthina?” Came a man’s voice, “Are you in here?”

Leliana’s initial strange thought was that her cart-driver was here; the voices were similar, and the accents the same, but then the door was opened by a blue-eyed nobleman who caught sight of her and said, “Oh, I’m sorry… I’ll come back later.”

“Come in, Sebastian,” Elthina called after him, “This is the agent of the Divine I told you about. Sebastian is working towards his vows as a Brother,” Elthina said to Leliana. “And he has a passing acquaintance with Magister Hawke.”

The way Sebastian shifted and avoided Elthina’s eyes for a moment told Leliana that it was probably more than a passing acquaintance, despite what the Revered Mother thought. “He has helped me with some personal matters, and I play cards with him and his friends sometimes.”

It was the eyes that finally connected the dots for Leliana; Starkhaven’s royal family had always had very bright blue eyes, and their youngest son had been missing since well before the massacre.

“Do you know where I can find Magister Hawke?” Leliana asked him.

Sebastian ducked his head and said, “I’d guess he’s at home at the moment, but he’s always got something going on, so perhaps not. Still, the house is the best place to catch him.”

“What’s your impression of Magister Hawke’s character, Ser Vael?”

Sebastian straightened up when she used his last name, expression turning stiff. “He’s a good man who likes to help people, especially those who can expect no other help.”

“You said he helped you - with what?”

Gritting his teeth, “I prefer not to speak of it. It wasn’t a good time and I wasn’t making good decisions.”

“Hawke took vengeance on Sebastian’s family’s murderers for him,” Elthina said, earning a scowl from Sebastian.

“I see,” Leliana said.

* * *

The Seneschal was next on her list, up in the Viscount’s office, a city guardsman in the process of gently removing a protesting noble.

“Yes,” Bran snapped at her, quick and irritated, “What is it now? Alienage on fire? Pray for rain.”

“It wasn’t when I passed by earlier,” Leliana said, her tone even and unaffected, “I was sent here by the Divine for other matters, however.”

Bran blinked and seemed to reset, becoming a calmer and more reasonable man. It was obvious how he’d kept his position this long. “I’m sorry, you must be Sister Nightingale. What can I help you with?”

“Tell me about how the Viscount died,” Leliana suggested, taking a seat in front of the desk. “That seems to be where your current problems started.”

Bran snorted. “Our current problems started years ago, when the Qunari came to Kirkwall. They just became much larger issues when Dumar died.”

He filled her in, all the things they’d been hearing in reports from Kirkwall from the perspective of the Seneschal. He had a different insight - revealed that he had asked Magister Hawke to help the city on multiple occaisons, and that the Magister didn’t just show up uninvited to trouble, which had been her earlier impression. And he ended it by requesting that she leave the Magister alone.

“He’s not - dangerous,” Bran said, trying to elocute the exact right idea, “But he is a strange man, and I find it best to call upon him only to resolve things. Because otherwise, things get started.”

“Things?” Leliana asked, letting her humor show as she remembered traveling around with a couple Wardens who could find or start trouble anywhere they went.

“Things,” he refused to elaborate. “But if you have to talk to him, try to keep an open mind about - the mage thing and the Tevinter thing. He’s a good man, despite some oddities of character.”

* * *

Cullen frowned and squinted at her, and eventually asked, “Didn’t I see you with the Hero of Ferelden back in Kinloch Hold?”

Leliana hadn’t believed that he’d remember her - she didn’t try to be memorable, and Cullen had been in a bad way - but she’d been prepared for it. “Yes, I did travel with the Wardens during the Blight. Now I work closely with the Divine, who has sent me to investigate the Knight-Commander’s death.”

“Of course,” Cullen nodded, rubbing the fingers of one hand into his closed eyes. “Do you need anything from me? You have free run of the Circle.”

“Do you have time to answer some questions?”

Instead of answering, Cullen sat down at his desk and waved for her to continue.

Leliana sat as well. “The current theory is that Meredith overdosed on lyrium. Can you confirm other symptoms of abuse, or suspicions?”

“Meredith was always very… strong in her beliefs.” Cullen blew out a deep breath. “I can’t say for certain - if she really was using too much, she hid it better than most. But she was getting more harsh with the mages, more… cautious. I was writing it off as her being concerned about the Magister and taking it out on the others, which - isn’t great, I know, but she wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

Leliana waited, still and unblinking, her expression clear of judgement. She wanted Cullen to keep talking, and hopefully stop talking himself in circles.

“So she was acting a little more erratic than usual, but lyrium abuse wouldn’t have been my first call. It does fit, though.”

Cullen didn’t know what to believe, Leliana could tell. He wasn’t close with his boss, but he did feel that he should be loyal - he was waffling between making excuses and admitting that something had been amiss.

“Usually lyrium abuse is triggered by some outside event,” Leliana offered in a low tone, remembering that Cullen would know this, having been watched closely after his imprisonment in Kinloch. “Can you think of anything that might have happened to Meredith?”

“Nothing recent,” Cullen shook his head. “Everyone knows - she had - the usual reasons for becoming a Templar, really. Mage in the family. Didn’t end well.”

“Right, that should be all I need from you about Meredith,” Leliana made some marks in her book, nothing more than encoded reminders to help her remember. “One more thing - the Magister Hawke.”

“Oh,” Cullen began to act guilty for the first time since Leliana had showed up; she immediately crossed him off the list of suspects for Meredith, because he clearly couldn’t hide for shit. “Him. His papers from Tevinter all check out, so we haven’t been able to do much, especially with, well, the Viscount used to back him.”

_Interesting_ , Leliana thought. “You’ve worked with him before, correct?”

“He’s helped us clear out some abominations and demon problems,” Cullen shifted uncomfortably. “And to bring in a couple of errant mages. He’s also very much against blood magic. Killed a few blood mages and rescued a Templar recruit in the process.”

“So you aren’t concerned by having a mage living outside of your Circle?”

“Ah… we keep an eye on him?” Cullen sounded more like he was asking her a question. At her unimpressed look, he added, “Hawke’s got a lot of friends in the city, he barely even seems like a mage half the time.” Cullen remembered something and coughed. “Except for the staff. And the… slave thing.”

“Slave thing.”

“Fenris. Tevinter elf, wears a collar, calls him master. If you ask him outright, he says he’s a paid servant, so….” Cullen shrugged. “I shouldn’t have even mentioned it, to be honest. Fenris doesn’t have any of the signs of - he doesn’t have scars from blood magic, and Hawke treats him like family. I think he’s just really attached to Hawke.”

Leliana made an agreeing noise and no notes in her book. She didn’t think there was any danger of forgetting this.

* * *

Orsino’s office was just down the hall from Cullen’s, and when Leliana knocked on the door she heard a clatter and, after a pause, “Come in!”

Leliana entered and found Orsino turned away from her, putting a lock on a thick cupboard beside his desk. He turned around and shot her a nervous smile.

“Grand Enchanter, I am Sister Nightingale,” Leliana dipped her head. “Do you mind answering some questions?”

“Not at all,” Orsino gestured to the chairs set around a low table in the corner of his office, instead of the more formal set-up across his desk. “Tea?”

“No, thank you. I understand you were the one to find Meredith’s body?”

Orsino frowned into his cup of tea. “Yes. We had an early meeting scheduled, and when she wasn’t in her office I went to her quarters. I found her on her bed with the lyrium kit.”

“Did you notice anything else wrong with the room?”

Shaking his head, “No, it all seemed normal to me, but I didn’t go in there often so I couldn’t say for sure.”

“Do you know if anyone did? Anyone she was… close to?”

Orsino probably couldn’t help the way one side of his nose twitched up when he said, “No. She did not have any close friends.”

_Derision, satisfaction. He hated her_ , Leliana noted. That was fair, given what she’d heard of how Meredith ran the Gallows. She went on, asking the same questions she’d given Cullen; she got the same answers, except that Orsino didn’t dance around the topic. He told her outright that Meredith had always been strict with the mages, but that it had begun bordering on paranoia and delusion recently.

“Symptoms of lyrium overuse,” Leliana noted aloud, pretending to write that when her coded note actually said, Orsino would have seen her dead. It didn’t mean that he’d done it - Leliana doubted his stealth, and the greatest evidence they had for it being a simple overdose was the locked, untampered door to Meredith’s rooms - but it was worth noting.

“Exactly,” Orsino nodded. “Might I ask you a question, now?”

“I’m not done yet, but go ahead.”

“Who will be the new Knight-Commander?”

Leliana hummed and pretended to be thoughtful about it. “I will recommend to the Divine that Knight-Captain Cullen is able to fill the post, but she may have something else in mind. He is new to the Gallows, I know, but he has proven himself before.”

Cullen, she knew, would not suffer a demon or abomination in the city, not given his own past. Beyond that assurance, he was a capable commander who just needed to find his authority.

Orsino nodded, brows drawn together in thought. “Thank you. You had more questions?”

“Have you ever spoken to Magister Hawke, or had any communication with him?” Leliana watched carefully for his response, alert for signs of deception.

Orsino huffed a small laugh and said, “He avoids the Gallows as though it were Blighted, which can only be good for him. Many here - even some of the mages - do not like that he lives freely in Kirkwall. Has he done something?”

“We just like to keep updated on that sort of thing,” Leliana said with a small smile, neatly side-stepping the question. "He's a curious case. Can you offer any insight?"

"He has made some friends among both the mages and Templars here," Orsino admitted. "And from their defense of him I understand that he doesn't practice blood magic. Beyond that, or even whether that's really true, I couldn't say. I've never met him in person, as I said before. Seems a decent man, for a 'Vint."

"Knight-Captain Cullen mentioned an elf that stays with him?"

The tips of Orsino's pointed ears twitched back slightly in displeasure and his eyes narrowed. "Yes, well, I did say decent for a ' _Vint_."

* * *

The Magister's estate looked much the same as the ones to either side of it, Leliana reflected as she approached. Of course, after everything she'd heard today it would be foolish to expect sigils written in blood on the door, but perhaps some thing should mark this mansion as belonging to a dangerous mage.

Leliana shook the wispy thoughts away as she knocked on the door.

It was opened half a minute later by an elf woman wearing an apron and sauce spatters. She looked Leliana up and down, taking in the dusty traveling clothes, and asked in a reserved tone, "Yes?"

"I'm here to see Magister Hawke," Leliana said, giving her a polite smile.

Brusquely, "Name?"

"Sister Nightingale. I believe he knows I'm in town."

"Hm," was the woman's response. "Come and wait in the foyer, I'll see if Messere Hawke is taking visitors."

Leliana nodded and stepped through the doorway into a tall foyer, lit by the evening sun through the window behind her. There was someone else in the room: a very familiar dwarf.

"Bodahn!" Leliana exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Where's Sandal?"

"He's got his own workshop, thanks to Messere Hawke," Bodahn told her, puffing up proudly. "He took us in after a bad bit of business with this other surfacer... ah, but that's a boring story. How have you been since you left the Warden?"

"Back with the Chantry, as I told her. I'm in town on business, but perhaps we can go out for a drink after and catch up?"

"Be a pleasure," Bodahn agreed, with an honest grin. "Ah, Arianni's back."

Arianni was the elf woman, who'd scampered off as soon as Leliana was in Bodahn's care. She nodded at Leliana and said, "Come with me, Messere Hawke is back this way."

Every sense was alight as Leliana came into the library, ears tuned to overhear a parting remark, eyes searching out some clue that would give away the Magister's whole game. The foyer was innocuous, the hallway unremarkable; but she could tell from the worn state of the chairs that he spent a lot of time in this room.

She noted the depressed cushions on two of the chairs, the lingering scent of a light perfume in the air. He'd been meeting with someone - at least one woman, most likely - right before she came. Now the library was empty except for the Magister, seated in another chair, and his dark-skinned elf hovering just behind it.

"Magister Hawke," she greeted, "And Fenris, I assume." She let them see her gaze flick to the collar around his neck. 

"And you'd be Sister Nightingale... or Leliana, as I've been told." Hawke waved, toward the chair across from him, one of the ones his previous visitors had been sitting in.

Leliana hid her surprise as she sat down, wondering if Bodahn had somehow gotten here that far ahead of her. Who else could have told him?

"I've surprised you!" Hawke laughed, good-natured instead of gloating as she would have expected. "Don't worry, Sister, I haven't been spying on you that much. I only know your name - which was enough, since we have some mutual acquaintances."

"Bodahn told me you'd taken him in," Leliana said, nodding.

"Him, and one other. Anders tells me he never really knew you in person, but you're both former companions of the Hero of Ferelden, and he'll talk about her all day long if you let him."

"She is worth talking about.”

“Not what you came here for, though,” Hawke’s smile washed away like it had never been, his face flat and expressionless.

“True,” Leliana agreed with a respectful incline of her head. Either the Magister had good control over himself, or his seeming of friendliness earlier had been an excellent act. “Can you tell me about the circumstances around the Viscount’s death?”

“I’m sure it’s already been talked to death, but if you want to hear it again,” Hawke launched into his own account of the day, down to warning the Viscount not to call the Qunari into the Keep. His story matched up with Bran’s in every way, until he got to the point where the fighting began.

“This thief he wanted,” Leliana said when Hawke paused to take a drink, “You told him you didn’t know where they were, and he called it a bluff. Was it?”

“No,” Hawke lied.

He had excellent form, no tells to be found. He didn’t avoid her eyes or look too hard at them, the wine in his hand didn’t tremble with nerves.

But Fenris behind him gave it all away as he glared at Leliana for daring to ask.

“Either way,” Hawke continued with the barest pause, “The Arishok was looking to pick a fight. After years in Kirkwall, away from the Qun, he was losing himself and it made him unstable.”

“Would you say that you know that from personal experience?”

Hawke snorted: “I’m no convert - or, wait, were you asking about my being away from the Imperium? Kirkwall is different from home, sure, but our countries are practically sisters compared to the differences between either of them and the Qun.”

Leliana recalled to mind all the times that Neria had had trouble managing Sten, so much so that Leliana had asked her once if they weren’t better off just leaving him behind somewhere. “I’ll admit you’re probably right on that one,” Leliana nodded. “So then why are you here, Magister? And how long are you planning on staying?”

“The Imperium is an unfriendly place for me to be right now,” Hawke told her, again with no evidence of a lie. Fenris also gave no sign, which Leliana was beginning to believe was a better indicator. “Some plans that have been years in the making are coming to fruition, not to mention I’m still a little in disgrace because of that Magister Fenris killed.”

“Deserved it,” Fenris muttered sullenly into the wine bottle as he refilled Hawke’s glass.

“Plans that involve the south at all?” Leliana prodded.

“The opposite. Plans involving Seheron, which you’ll recall is an island north of the Imperium.”

“Hm,” Leliana said, unimpressed. “How did you kill Meredith Stannard?”

“I didn’t,” Hawke laughed, as though startled. Leliana could have believed him this time, but Fenris looked far too satisfied with himself.

“But he did,” Leliana countered, inclining her head toward the elf.

“Fenris was with me all that night,” Hawke smiled, as Fenris’ expression relaxed into accepting passivity and his eyes seemed to go flat and lifeless. Leliana wouldn’t be able to read him again. “And we’ve got two other people who will corroborate that.”

There were more important things to cover, but for just a moment - “Two?” Leliana asked, eyebrows raised.

“I have a very big bed,” Hawke winked.

Leliana cleared her throat. “I won’t ask you more about it, and my report to the Divine will state that Meredith overdosed on lyrium, as the initial report suggested.” She looked Hawke dead in the eye. “I know what she was doing to the mages in the Gallows, Magister Hawke, and I traveled with several mages for months. They’re people, they can be good or bad just like people, and no one deserves to be treated like that just for a gift the Maker gave them. Meredith’s death was a blessing to the Kirkwall Circle.”

“Glad we can agree on that, at least,” Hawke muttered.

Speaking a little over him, she continued, “But that does not mean you have my blessing to continue to interfere in Kirkwall’s leadership. Not in the choosing of a Viscount, not in the commands of the new Knight-Commander or First Enchanter. I’m going to pretend that Meredith’s death was just a tragic accident, and if you know what’s good for you, you will pretend that you don’t even know what the word ‘assassination’ means, no matter how much you don’t like someone.”

“Well that’s just unrealistic,” Hawke complained. “I’m from Tevinter, if there isn’t at least one assassination during a Magisterium session everyone complains that nothing got done.”

Maker help her, making this man be serious for a moment was like herding Zevran back on track. “And if you have a problem with the way things are being run, please contact me before resulting to extreme measures.”

“Very kind,” Hawke tilted his head slightly to the side. “Just asking, but would you be willing…?”

Leliana read the question off his body language before he could even finish speaking it. “Not interested in sleeping with you.”

“Shame. Do you have somewhere to be after this?”

“What did I just say?” Leliana demanded, rolling her eyes. She wondered where Zevran was at this moment, and if he’d like to meet Hawke. They’d be fucking each other within minutes of saying hello.

Hawke held up his hands in surrender. “I just wanted to ask you some questions about the Hero of Ferelden and what happened during the Blight. It’s an interesting topic, especially the chance to hear from someone first-hand.”

“Oh. I have some time, I suppose.”

Hawke beamed at her and said, “Hold on a second, then, let’s get Anders and Bodahn in here too. You know Anders?” He stood up from his seat and motioned to Fenris, who vanished out into the hall Leliana had come from. Hawke ducked his head into a different doorway, presumably a servant’s hall, and called for Bodahn.

“I assume you mean a specific Anders, not just the group of people living in the Anderfels,” Leliana said, a small smile twitching up one corner of her mouth. “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

“He joined up with the Wardens when the Hero gave him the choice between that or the Circle, and he stayed with them at Vigil’s Keep for a while before he was reassigned to Kirkwall,” Hawke offered. “The one I told you about earlier.”

“By all means,” Leliana drank the rest of her glass, appreciating both the taste and the expense. “Let’s have a reunion.”


	36. the dreamer

"I wish I could have asked her more directly about Wynne," Hawke sighed, leaning back into his bedroom door after it finally closed for the night.

Fenris said nothing, just stood pressed against Hawke's chest with his head ducked low.

"Hey, stop kicking yourself over it," Hawke chided gently, wrapping his arms around him. "There was no harm done."

"She read your lie off of me," Fenris mumbled to the floor. "If I had let something like that happen in the Imperium, it could have gotten you killed. It could have endangered you even down here. I have grown lax, and what use am I if I'm not protecting you? If I bring more trouble to you?"

“No harm done,” Hawke repeated, even as he knew that Fenris was right. “People down here don’t expect machinations and lies around every corner, we’ve both grown lax in hiding ourselves. We’ll both have to keep a better eye out.”

Fenris muttered something probably uncomplimentary under his breath, then looked up and asked in a more normal tone, “Did you find out from her what you wanted to?”

“About as much as I’d expected, not as much as I’d hoped,” Hawke shrugged, and pushed Fenris away so he could begin undressing. “Wynne is one of the only stories I’ve heard of with a spirit and a human coexisting well together. She’s the _only_ verifiable one. But unless I can actually ask her directly if I screwed something up by dealing with that Command spirit, I think I’ve hit the end of this road.”

Fenris was the only one who knew the whole story of exactly how Hawke had defeated the Arishok; the rest of his group thought he’d pulled some desperate magic out of his ass, and even that wouldn’t have worked if there had been another mage in the room. Fenris had known that Hawke was using magic he’d never seen before, but not the source. Not until Hawke held him tightly under the covers of their bed and whispered it into the back of his neck, a trembling confession.

_“You didn’t give it blood,” Fenris had whispered back, twisting around so he could press their foreheads together and look into Hawke’s golden eyes._

_“Not this time,” Hawke murmured. “But if I was weak enough to do it once…. Is it the blood magic or giving in to the temptation that makes them weak-willed? Fenris, I never thought I’d say yes.”_

_Fiercely, Fenris declared, “If it means you live, I’m glad that you did.”_

“I wonder if it’s a matter of will,” Hawke sat on the bed and toed off his house slippers, watching Fenris peel out of his tight clothes. “If Wynne was just strong enough to overcome the spirit, instead of the other way around the way Anders is.”

“Anders is… not weak-willed,” Fenris said reluctantly. “Not in other matters, at least. Clearly it’s different when it comes to Justice.”

“He told us that it was a mutual decision to save Justice’s life,” Hawke made a thoughtful noise. “If it isn’t willpower that lets a Fade creature and a human live together successfully, what else could it be?”

“You’ve got one shining example of how not to do it,” Fenris grumbled, climbing into bed next to Hawke and burrowing under the covers until only his white hair showed above. “And you’re not possessed anyway, Master. Please stop talking about it.”

“It’s not just this,” Hawke argued, slipping in next to him. “Bethy and Varania’s research is pointing towards the Fade and spirits, too. Leliana was at least able to confirm the stories that Anders heard from Surana.”

“Mm,” said Fenris, on a mission beneath the covers. His hands trailed down Hawke’s bare skin, through chest hair and following the little trail that pointed the way straight to Hawke’s dick.

“You just don’t want to talk about - ” Hawke’s breath hitched, “Spirits!”

“I can stop if you want to keep talking,” Fenris offered, with his hand wrapped around Hawke's cock.

"Maybe some people are just more capable," Hawke said at obnoxious volume, looking determinedly over Fenris' head. "Like specializations. Wynne just has that knack."

Fenris made an agreeable sound and continued languidly stroking, definitely not enough to get Hawke more than riled up.

“Maker, you’re a tease,” Hawke complained. “Fine, I’ll stop talking about spirits. Now get moving or let me do it myself!”

* * *

“Hawke! Hawke!”

It had been a near-idyllic month since Meredith’s death, Hawke reflected. It was about time for something to be going wrong.

Arianni burst into the library, still wrapped up in the apron she’d cooked breakfast in, and latched onto his arm. “It’s Feynriel - he won’t wake up!”

Hawke jumped up out of his chair, trading a look with Fenris. Feynriel’s education had progressed to mostly self-study about a year ago, aside from sporadic lessons with the mages in Hawke’s house. He had never found his specialization - despaired quietly that he didn’t have one - but he was a well-rounded student.

Albeit one with pronounced demon problems. Feynriel’s sleep was plagued by them, probably more than he was willing to admit to Hawke, and he avoided Merrill like a plague-bearer after he finally figured out her specialization.

“Get Bethany and Varania,” Hawke ordered. “He’s in his room?”

Arianni nodded, “Sandal is with him right now, but there’s nothing he can do... Oh, please, I can’t lose him.”

“Get them,” Hawke said again, gently pushing her out of the library toward the stairs. “I’ll see to Feynriel, but they might be more help than I am.”

Arianni was off, running up the stairs and calling as she went. Hawke went to the servant’s rooms and found Sandal and Feynriel’s door opened, spilling bright blue light from a mage-ball over Feynriel’s bed.

Sandal, sitting on the floor next to Feynriel’s bed, looked up at them and said, “Enchantment,” in a mournful tone as he pointed at Feynriel.

“I doubt he’s been enchanted,” Hawke replied. “This seems like it’s more an escalation. A demon has him.”

“I agree,” Varania said from behind Hawke, dodging past him and Fenris to get to Feynriel’s bedside. The room became rapidly overcrowded as Bethany and Arianni pushed in too. "He came to me about the demons in his dreams two days ago. I wasn't sure then, but I've done more research since, and Hawke, I think he's a somniari.

"A what?" Arianni demanded at the same time Hawke exclaimed, "A somniari! Those are practically fairy-tales."

"It fits," Bethany agreed, sitting down on the bed opposite Feynriel's. "He attracts more demons than the rest of the mages in this house, and he never did find his specialization. His being a somniari explains both of those things, as well as why some demon has captured his mind now."

"Excuse me," Arianni said loudly, "What is a somniari? Is it dangerous?"

"It's a very rare and powerful type of mage," Hawke told her, eyes shadowing as he realized how many magisters back home would kill to have a somniari under their power. "If they're right and Feynriel is one, he can enter and travel the Fade at will, as well as shape it to his liking. Dreamers are more attractive to demons as hosts because of their strong connection to the Fade, which would be why a demon is stopping him from waking up." He turned to his sister. "We have to wake him up somehow. The longer he's in there, the longer they have to weaken his resolve."

Varania said, "He can't wake up while they hold his mind captive. Someone will have to go into the Fade, defeat the demons, and bring him back out."

“Do you know how to do that?” Hawke asked.

Nodding, Varania said, “There’s a ritual. I would need to stay awake out here to sustain it, and it allows up to four people to visit another’s dreams in the Fade.”

Hawke’s eyes flicked to Fenris and Bethany, then unfocused as he considered his other options. “Bethy, has your combat magic improved at all?”

“Probably best if you take your friends,” Bethany admitted, “I’ll stay out here and help Varania.”

“Sandal, go get Anders. Cat-healer, yes,” Sandal scampered off, happy to be able to help. “Anyone know where Merrill got off to?”

“Right here,” Merrill’s light voice said from the hallway. “What’s the commotion about? I can’t see, that room is far too crowded.”

Hawke sighed. “Shift around people, stand on the furniture if you have to. We still have to fit Anders’ stupidly tall self in here. Varania, what do you need?”

“I’ve got the ingredients for the incense on me,” Varania stood on Sandal’s bed, hunched a little at the shoulders to keep her head from touching the ceiling, and rummaged in the bag at her side. “So I just need something of Feynriel’s as a focus. Yes, that’ll do.”

It was Feynriel’s worn, dog-eared copy of a book of mage specializations. Somniari wasn’t even featured in it, Hawke knew, because it was so rare. Feynriel had read through it probably a dozen times, more for his favorite passages.

Hawke’s stomach clenched. “I should have tried harder to figure it out,” he muttered, staring guiltily at the book. His problems had always seemed more imminent than Fenyriel’s little mystery.

Arianni said nothing, damning all on its own.

* * *

It wasn’t like being transported somewhere; going into the Fade through this ritual felt just like falling asleep. Hawke couldn’t pinpoint when Varania’s chanting voice had left his awareness, and he couldn’t say when he’d actually arrived, just that he slowly became aware that the world around him was misty and green-tinted, and he was not where he had been.

“Everyone with me?” Hawke asked, turning around to see if his friends were behind him. 

Fenris was right there by his elbow, pale but present, his sword already drawn. Merrill had gone over to a nearby pillar and stuck her hand through a bit of it that wasn’t showing stone texture and was instead glowing steadily green. Anders was hunched over and staring dumbly at a suit of armor standing next to him.

“Merrill, please leave that alone before you lose your hand,” Hawke went over to gently pull her away.

“It feels strange,” she protested. “I want to figure it out. Why’s there a hole in the Fade here?”

Hawke ignored her. “Anders, stop staring at the decor and let’s go, we’ve got an apprentice to save.”

“Justice?” Anders asked, still not looking away from the armor.

Hawke frowned. “What about him?”

“Yes, Anders?” the armor spoke.

“Good Maker!” Hawke exclaimed, as Fenris darted forward and tried to stab it.

“Get away from the demon, you idiot,” Fenris snapped to Anders, as the armor drew its own sword and managed a heavy parry on Fenris’ strike.

“How many times,” the armor growled in its tinny voice, “Do I have to tell you I’M NOT A DEMON.”

“Oh, it’s Justice,” Hawke realized, “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you until you started shouting. Fenris, stop it, we can’t kill Justice.”

“We haven’t tried yet,” Fenris muttered under his breath, but stepped back to Hawke’s side.

“What do you mean, shouting?” Justice demanded. “I do not shout.”

“You do,” Merrill said apologetically. “In the real world, every time you talk through Anders, you’re very shouty.”

“I am?” Justice didn’t have a face, but his voice sounded quite confused. “I don’t mean to. It just always seems like you won’t hear me otherwise.”

“Fascinating, but not what we came here for,” Hawke glanced around the hall they’d arrived in, lined with pillars and featuring a floating book. There was a door at the other end. “There, let’s go.”

“Oh, maybe this will help,” Merrill reached out to grab the book as they passed it. It blinked out of existence between her hands and reappeared right in front of Fenris’ face. He ducked, but the corner of it still clipped his forehead as it fell to the ground, suddenly corporeal.

He turned and snapped, “Stop touching things! This is the Fade, not an adventure!”

Hawke had picked up the book and flicked through it. “Huh, interesting. Still not what we’re here for. Moving on, kids!”

“I’m pretty sure all three of us are older than him,” Anders muttered from the back.

“Four,” said Justice. He sighed. “It feels good to be home, but… I am not fully here. I cannot manipulate the mists as I should be able to. This is a cruel mockery of return.”

“Sorry, didn’t really think about what this would do to you,” Anders admitted.

“We are helping a mage,” Justice intoned. “That is good enough.”

Justice was a much better person than he was, Anders reflected.

After a puzzle opened up the next door -

“Why? Who’s putting puzzle doors in here?” Hawke wondered. “Is this just a Fade thing or is this some weird puzzle demon?”

\- there was another large hall with a staircase on either side leading up to two balconies, each with its own door. In the middle, a demon awaited them.

“Wait, Hawke,” Merrill laid her hand on Hawke’s arm as he raised his staff toward the thing. “Let’s hear what it has to say.”

Justice unsheathed his sword again, shouldering Fenris out of the way so he could step up on Hawke’s other side. “Do not listen to her, or to it. The demon should not be allowed to speak.”

“Do I get a say?” it asked in a slow, echoing tone.

“What are you called?” Hawke asked, shaking off Merrill’s hand. Justice shifted beside him, becoming angry, and Hawke elbowed him to keep him silent a moment longer.

“I am Torpor,” it said. “You came for the dreamer? So many have. I keep them away, as I keep him asleep.”

“You keep demons away from him?” Hawke asked, eyes narrowing. “So that you have him all to yourself, I suppose.”

“Yes,” Torpor drew the word out too long, lilting and hissing. “But I am not like my brothers and sisters… not even like that shade of a creature you have next to you. I do not want to possess him, only to bask in the glow of his power. I am Torpor; I do not care do much.

“If you would agree to allow me to stay, I can continue to protect him from the others. And in return for your generosity, I would give you a great reward.”

Hawke listened, head tilted, and found a great feeling of relief welling up. Here was the thing he feared, had feared since the battle with the Arishok: a demon offering him power, a deal, and he felt… nothing. No interest, no thirst for power. He felt the same as he always had when faced with a demon who wanted someting from him.

“I’d really rather just kill you,” Hawke shrugged, sending out a wave of miasma. The others around him leapt into action in the next moment, Fenris and Justice rushing forward with swrods drawn, Anders and Merrill beginning their own cast.

Torpor didn’t stand a chance against five of them, dying with a hoarse groan and leaving behind a stain on the floor.

Hawke frowned a little and looked around. “What happens to spirits if they’re killed in the Fade?”

Merrill and Anders both made ‘I don’t know’ faces at him, Fenris gave him a flat ‘Don’t look at me’ and Justice said, “I have never died, so I am not sure.”

“Right, let’s find Feynriel and get the fuck out of here,” Hawke decided. “Fenris and I will take the left, Merrill, Anders, and Justice, you get the right one. Questions?”

There were none; they split up, and Hawke opened the door onto a very bizarre scene.

He saw himself in his dining room, leaned over a corner of the huge table with Feynriel just on the other side, both of them looking through a familiar book.

“So you’re not primal school, that’s alright - I should have known, they don’t have any sense of style or finesse. Who wants to just lob rocks around all day?” Hawke laughed and ruffled Feynriel’s hair as the boy looked up at him. Feynriel was young here, about the age when Hawke had first met him.

“Next up is… ah, entropy, that’s mine. Here, try this spell and tell me if you feel anything.”

Feynriel cast the simple hex glyph at the table, where it appeared just big enough to cover one person. His face lit up. "I think I felt it! Hawke, that's the one!"

"That's good," Dream-Hawke said, reaching proudly for Feynriel's shoulder. "Always good to meet another entropy mage! There's a lot I can teach you, Feynriel, I'm proud of how far you've come already."

"What are we watching," Real-Hawke murmured to Fenris, taking a step into the room. As he did he felt a ripple all along his body, and looked down to see a slim, elven form instead of his own body. Judging by the breasts and Fenris' question "Why do you look like Arianni?", Hawke had turn into Feynriel's mother.

"Feynriel, I wasn't sure I should say anything," Dream-Hawke said, "Because I wasn't sure about it, and your mother doesn't remember - but I've been in Kirkwall before, about fourteen years ago. It was a long time ago, and you know by now how I like to," he cleared his throat, "Get around. It's possible...."

"Are you saying...?" Feynriel began, looking up at Dream-Hawke with such hope in his eyes.

"Okay, that's enough," Arianni-Hawke announced loudly, interrupting before things could get even worse. This was what Feynriel dreamed about? This was what demons tempted him with? Hawke wanted to hit himself over the head with his staff.

"Mom?" Feynriel blurted, surprised. "And Fenris? What's going on?"

"He's lying to you, Feynriel," Arianni-Hawke told him. Belatedly, he remembered Varania's advice to ease him out of a dream slowly. "I already told you who your father was, why would I lie about it? It might not be as special as having a magister for a dad, but it's the truth."

"You told me... he was Antivan," Feynriel said slowly, as though just remembering.

Encouraged, Hawke continued, "And entropy was never your specialization; you said it made your fingernails itch."

Now Feynriel's expression turned crushed, and the room around them began to swirl with Fade-mist as it lost structure. The table and chairs melted right into the floor.

"I don't _have_ a specialization," Feynriel cried, and vanished.

"Look what you did!" Dream-Hawke shouted, rounding on Real-Hawke who had returned to normal form as soon as Feynriel was gone. "I nearly had him!"

"Shut up and die," Hawke snapped at it.

The demon tried to say something to Fenris, but neither was listening to it anymore, and it died quickly between them. They left the room and found Merrill, Anders, and Justice, all a little ruffled, emerging from their side as well.

"Alright over there?" Hawke asked them, wondering if they'd gone through something similar.

"Killed a demon," Anders called back.

"But Feynriel vanished," Merrill finished.

From below, in the middle of the room where Torpor had once been, Feynriel said, "I'm here."

They joined him down on the main floor, Hawke reaching out to grasp his shoulder. Feynriel, half-elf, would never be as tall as Hawke, but he wasn't the tiny, half-terrified boy he'd been when Hawke first met him.

"I'm dreaming, aren't I?" Feynriel asked, raising one hand and watching green mist seep through his fingers. "This is the Fade... and those were demons."

"They want you because you're something we call a somniari," Hawke told him. "They're very rare; that's your specialization. You can control the Fade, have a stronger connection to it than any other mage. The demons will always want you."

Feynriel looked up and met Hawke's gaze with unshed tears in his eyes. "How do I stop them? I can't... I couldn't even tell the difference until you all showed up to save me."

"I won't lie to you, Feynriel," Hawke replied. "It isn't going to be easy for you. You'll have to be on guard all the time. But there are ways to tell if you're in the Fade or not, little checks that you will have to make into a habit. If you know, you can fight it. And when you're better at it, and can control your dreams, it will be much better."

"Somniari," Fenyriel repeated, trying the word on for size. "Dreamer. That's what I am?"

"A very powerful mage," Hawke nodded, smiling at him.

Feynriel began to grin - except abruptly his eyes flew open wide and an expression of horror crossed his face. "Oh, shit, mom's gonna be _so_ mad how late I slept."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all thought I forgot about Feynriel's little problem, didn't ya?
> 
> Nice dose of reality and guilt for Hawke in this one, I like it
> 
> Also, Feynriel wanting Hawke to be his Real Dad (that was the point of that scene, if you were confused) has been in the works basically since chapter four. (He is not his Real Dad. I hope you weren't confused about that.)


End file.
